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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26304844">Hell Hath Frozen Over</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luke1813/pseuds/Luke1813'>Luke1813</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Hell Hath Frozen Over Series [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Character Development, F/M, Fantasy, Light-Hearted, Romantic Comedy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 05:56:02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>86,304</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26304844</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luke1813/pseuds/Luke1813</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Geralt of Rivia has retired from the Path, no longer killing monsters for coin but spending his days toiling on his vineyard instead.  But one evening a letter arrives at Corvo Bianco – a letter from Dandelion containing unbelievable news. It’s news that forces the witcher to travel back to Novigrad - to see if hell actually has frozen over. </p><p>This story contains major spoilers of the books, the games, and the expansions – particularly Blood &amp; Wine.  It is not 100% canon compliant.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Hell Hath Frozen Over Series [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2167950</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>26</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Author’s Notes (September 2020):</p><p>Story Synopsis: Geralt of Rivia has retired from the Path, no longer killing monsters for coin but spending his days toiling on his vineyard instead.  But one evening a letter arrives at Corvo Bianco – a letter from Dandelion containing unbelievable news. It’s news that forces the witcher to travel back to Novigrad - to see if hell actually has frozen over.</p><p> </p><p>Warnings: This story contains major spoilers of the books, the games, and the expansions – particularly Blood &amp; Wine.  It is not 100% canon compliant. Additionally, in this tale, the Axii Sign does not exist. While it may be an interesting game mechanic, I simply don’t have the talent to reconcile all of the plot inconsistencies that it creates.  Finally, with this story, I wanted to stretch my writing muscles and attempt something out of my comfort zone - a light-hearted, romantic comedy.  Unfortunately, I am not by nature either romantic or funny. (Just ask my ex-wife. She’d gladly tell you.) So, this tale may end up being a train wreck. You have been warned.</p><p> </p><p>Words of Gratitude: I was first introduced to Geralt of Rivia in the spring of 2016, and over four years later, I am still intrigued by him and his universe. I believe that is a testament to the incredibly talented and dedicated professionals at CD Projekt Red, who made such an amazing game with such interesting and complex characters.  Experiencing their game helped me to discover and pursue this new hobby of creative writing – a hobby that I find both immensely enjoyable and rewarding. And for that, I am incredibly grateful. So, thank you, CD Projekt Red. Thank you for pouring so much passion into your games that it spills over onto the rest of us.</p><p> </p><p>Disclaimer: This work is based on the characters and universe created and owned by Andrzej Sapkowski and/or CD Projekt Red.  It was undertaken strictly for my enjoyment and hopefully yours, as well.</p><p> </p><p>oOo</p><p> </p><p>Hell Hath Frozen Over</p><p>Chapter 1</p><p> </p><p>“I’ll ask you one last time,” said the witcher. “Are you <em>sure</em> you don’t want to use the other method?  I could transfer the curse instead.  And most likely it would be weakened.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m positive,” answered the creature, staring hard into his eyes. “I would <em>never</em> give this curse to someone else.  Even in a weakened state. Even if he volunteered for it. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.  So, yes, I’m sure. I choose the egg.”</p><p> </p><p>He knew that’s how she was going to answer. He’d seen the resolve on her face the day before when they’d first discussed her options.  But he’d forced himself to ask again anyway. For the consequences of her choice would not only be permanent, but it was also possible that they’d be quite severe.</p><p> </p><p>The two of them – the witcher and the monster – stood close together in a small glade.  Despite the less-than-ideal circumstances that had brought them to the forest, the witcher thought that the location couldn’t be more romantic. The clearing was filled with daisies, tulips, and white myrtle. The silver beams of a full moon shimmered off the surface of a nearby pond. Birds chirped softly in the trees, lightning bugs flittered about, and a gentle breeze rustled the leaves.  Plus, there was a scent in the air that was intoxicating.  The scent of the creature standing in front of him. Cursed though she was, she still smelled like a young, healthy and <em>naked </em>woman in the prime of her life.  </p><p> </p><p>He breathed in deeply, letting her scent fill his head, and then let out a small sigh.</p><p> </p><p>“Even though, with the egg-ritual, you might be condemning yourself to only seven years of life?”</p><p> </p><p>“Exactly, Geralt. Seven years of <em>life</em>.  Of <em>truly</em> living. No longer afraid of being discovered. Seven years of freedom. No longer caged in this cursed prison.”</p><p> </p><p>              At that point, the duchess’ lady-in-waiting broke eye-contact with the witcher and lowered her head.  He knew that she was examining her cursed body. A body covered in the black and bright yellow feathers of a golden oriole. Hands that had been transformed into bird-like claws.  And his heart broke for her. For he knew exactly what it felt like to be a freak. So, when she lifted her head, he only glanced at her large beak for an instant. Instead, he looked intently into her black, avian eyes and gave her a knowing nod.</p><p> </p><p>              “Yes, Geralt,” she repeated, this time a small laugh escaping her throat. “I am very sure.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Okay. Then, let’s move to the pond.”</p><p> </p><p>              “The pond? Why?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Because there’s obviously something magical about – given that it temporarily transforms you back into your human state. So, hopefully, the Power that’s in it – around it – will strengthen the incantation.”</p><p> </p><p>              Vivienne gave a nod, and then the two of them walked over to the edge of the pool.  Once there, Geralt crouched down, and she followed suit – less than a pace away. The witcher raised his hand, gently holding the cracked oriole egg in between them.  He brought his other hand near and cast a short Igni Sign. Fire flashed from his fingertips, quickly washing over the egg, before the sparks disappeared into the darkness.  He slowly reached up and carefully rubbed the egg down one side of her face, across the feathers on her forehead, and down the other cheek. </p><p>             </p><p>              “Now, focus all your thoughts on the egg and repeat after me,” ordered the witcher, holding the egg in front of her.  “Munna gan dehrau…munna finerat.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Munna gan dehrau,” she whispered. “Munna finerat.”</p><p> </p><p>              The witcher nodded his head – indicating for her to repeat the incantation.</p><p> </p><p>              Once she had, he nodded his head again.</p><p> </p><p>              On her third go, Geralt could hear her voice breaking with emotion. Whether it was from hope or fear, he couldn’t be sure.  Perhaps, it was both. And, suddenly, the egg in his hand began to vibrate and glow a fiery red.  He tightened his muscles and gritted his teeth, trying his best to keep the egg right in front of her, but there was too much Power surging into it. He heard her speak the incantation one more time, and then his world exploded.  He was blasted through the air, landing flat on his back.  He laid there for several moments with his ears ringing and his vision filled with flashing lights. Eventually, his senses began to come back to him, and he heard the sound of a woman’s joyful laughter.</p><p> </p><p>              “Geralt! Look! Look!” she exclaimed. “It worked!”</p><p> </p><p>              He lifted himself up onto one elbow to see a stark-naked and completely feather-free Vivienne doing pirouettes around the meadow. At first, he said nothing – just enjoying the sight in front of him.  For, he had to admit, she was absolutely stunning.  Firm and flat in all the right places. And curvaceous and bouncy in all the other right places. And, obviously, without a shred of embarrassment. But it was more than her beauty that mesmerized him. The way she was dancing and moving her arms about – laughing all the while – it was completely uninhibited and care-free. He knew that he’d never felt that way in his entire life.  And he feared he never would.</p><p> </p><p>              And it was then that he furrowed his brow, for he was suddenly filled with confusion.  In his mind, he whispered, <em>“This isn’t right. This isn’t the way it happened.”</em></p><p>
  
</p><p><em>              “Shut up!”</em> he heard another voice answer back.  A voice that sounded a lot like Dandelion’s. <em>“You’re gonna ruin it! Just go with it, man! Just go with it!”</em></p><p>
  
</p><p>He continued to watch the scene in front of him for a few more moments before he finally shook himself from his trance-like state.</p><p>
  
</p><p>              “Yeah,” he said out loud, and then he swallowed hard. “It definitely worked. You, uh, you are aware that you’re as naked as the day you were born, right?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Of course,” she said laughing. “And it’s all thanks to you. You wonderful, wonderful man.”</p><p> </p><p>              Instantly – so fast that he hadn’t even seen her move – she was on top of him, covering his face and neck in kisses. </p><p> </p><p>              “How can I ever repay you?” she whispered breathlessly as she continued to shower him with kisses.  To make the situation even more awkward, she was now rubbing parts of her body all over parts of his.</p><p> </p><p>              <em>“Well, I’ve got an idea,”</em> said the bard’s far-away voice.</p><p> </p><p>               But the witcher chose not to listen to the voice because, at that moment, an uncomfortable feeling was beginning to flood his mind. So, instead, he said, “No, Vivienne, we can’t. We can’t do this. This isn’t right.”</p><p> </p><p>              <em>“Noooo!”</em> yelled the voice. <em>“Fool! Absolute fool!”</em></p><p> </p><p>              Clearly, the voice and the fair maiden were of the same mind because Geralt’s words didn’t deter her at all.</p><p> </p><p>              “But it is, and we can,” she said seductively, not stopping her amorous displays.</p><p> </p><p>              And, suddenly, Geralt felt completely agitated.  He began to push the young woman off, but he couldn’t seem to get a grasp on her. He was moving in slow motion, and she was like water in his hands. Every time he tried to grab her, she’d slipped right through his grip and would immediately be back on top of him.</p><p> </p><p>              “No! We can’t!” he began yelling, shaking his head from side to side. “No! No!”</p><p> </p><p>              “Yes! Yes!” she answered back.</p><p> </p><p>              He continued in vain to fight her off when events turned even more bizarre.</p><p> </p><p>              “Sir! Sir!” she said in a man’s voice. “Wake up, sir!”</p><p> </p><p>              And, then, suddenly, the young, nude Vivienne morphed into the majordomo of Corvo Bianco.  Seeing a now naked Barnabas-Basil Foulty on top of him caused the witcher to shout out in shock and revulsion – waking him from his dream-turned-nightmare.</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt jerked up in his chair, breathing heavily and with a piece of parchment stuck to his face.  He felt a hand firmly shaking him on his shoulder.</p><p> </p><p>              “Wake up, sir,” said B.B gently. “It’s just a dream. Wake up.”</p><p> </p><p>              It took a moment, but the witcher eventually recognized his surroundings.  He was in his study, a small room just off of the main dining area.  His desk – covered with numerous ledgers and parchments – was before him, and his steward stood over him holding a lantern in hand.  He saw B.B. smile.</p><p> </p><p>              “That sounded like a doozy, sir.”</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt removed the paper from his sweat-soaked face, placed it back on the desk, and exhaled long and slow. He nodded his head and grunted in the affirmative.</p><p> </p><p>              “Fighting shaelmaars and vampires, sir?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Worse,” he said, still trying to catch his breath.  “A young, beautiful, naked woman.”</p><p> </p><p>              B.B. chuckled.<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>              “You know, sir, even after all this time, there are moments when I still don’t know when you’re jesting or not.”  The steward’s eyes then scanned the desk.  “Fell asleep at your desk again. What exactly were you working on?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Just going over everything one more time,” he answered, glancing at the most recent report from his viticulturist.</p><p> </p><p>              The vineyard’s first harvest would start the next week, and he was doing everything in his power to make sure it went off without a hitch.  Last year – his first year owning the vineyard – they’d had no harvest due to a fungal invasion of the vines.  Thus, this year’s crop was vitally important.  So much depended on it.  So many depended on it.  The thought of that weighed him down. And he only knew of one thing that he could do to deal with those thoughts.  He looked back up at B.B.</p><p> </p><p>              “If you’re here, then that means the sun will be up shortly,” he stated, rising from his chair. “I best get to work.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Don’t forget your breakfast, sir,” said the majordomo, picking up a plate that carried a ham-and-cheese-filled croissant.</p><p> </p><p>              “Ah, yeah. Thanks, B.B. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Indeed, sir.”</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt wolfed down his sandwich as he left the house by the front door.  When he came around the stone path, heading towards the barn, he heard a sharp hiss coming from near his feet. One of the vineyard’s cats was nearby, arched up with its hair standing on end.  It was an older tom-cat that Geralt could tell had been in many battles over the years.  It had a scar across its nose, and one of its ears was half missing.  The witcher had named the grey feline after a friend from decades past, a Sorcan guard who’d also had a half-missing ear.</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt stopped where he was and slowly knelt down.  He took his last bite of the croissant and tossed it toward the cat.</p><p> </p><p>              “Come here, Jokko,” he said gently.  “I’m not gonna hurt you.”</p><p> </p><p>              The cat took a few cautious steps toward the meal but, suddenly, thought better of it and scampered off into the darkness.</p><p> </p><p>              “Ingrate,” he called after Jokko before picking up the morsel. He blew on it a couple of times before tossing it into his mouth. </p><p> </p><p>              “That’s fine,” he mumbled to himself. “Little shit needs to be catching mice anyway. Earn his keep around here.” But then he smiled as he looked off in the direction that the cat had fled.  “I’m going to wear you down, Jokko. Just wait and see.”</p><p> </p><p>              A few moments later, Geralt entered the barn and – as was his custom – sat on a stool next to the grinding stone.  For eight decades while on the Path, he had sharpened and cared for his swords every day. And, though he was no longer a practicing witcher, he’d discovered that some habits just wouldn’t die.  So, while his witcher swords now sat unused on a sword rack in his bedroom, every morning he’d spend the hour before sunrise sharpening all of the tools in the shed.  Hoes, axes, pruning shears, knives and the like.  He’d put a razor’s edge on all of them, whether they needed it or not. </p><p> </p><p>              He cherished those moments before dawn, before his workers arrived and the hustle and bustle of the day would begin.  The world was so peaceful at that time a day, he thought.  The night-dwellers and all the other creepy-crawlies had gone to bed by then, and most day-creatures were just starting to stir.  It hadn’t been intentional, but that hour before sunrise had become a daily time of relaxing meditation.  Even the routine of sharpening the tools seemed to help to put his mind at ease – even if it was just a bit.  It seemed to be the only time of day when he wasn’t constantly worrying about the vineyard’s success or failure.</p><p> </p><p>              As he went about his morning ritual, his mind drifted back to the dream he’d just woken up from less than an hour ago. At first, he wondered what had brought on such a strange nightmare, but he then recalled that he’d seen a solitary, golden oriole flying around his estate at one point the previous afternoon.  He’d noticed it because it wasn’t one of the typical birds that called his land home.  To his surprise, it seemed to have been following him around for a short while before a crazed and angry raven had attacked out of nowhere and scared it off.  He’d thought the whole incident strange at the time, and he now figured that it must have been the genesis of his dream.  Because, in the last two years, he hadn’t seen Vivienne de Tabris.  Not once.  The last he’d heard was that she’d left the duchy almost immediately after he’d broken her curse. The rumor was that she was traveling the world.  He couldn’t blame her – given what she’d been through and how little time she might have left. The truth was that, not only had he not seen her, he hadn’t really thought much about her in the last two years either.  But, obviously, seeing the golden oriole the day before had stirred up some memories.</p><p> </p><p>              Now that she was on his mind, the witcher remembered her quite fondly.  Heck, every contract that he’d ever taken in which he hadn’t been forced to kill he recalled fondly.  They were so few and far between.  But he had positive feelings about her for more than that.  He hadn’t known her well, but he’d liked the young woman in their brief time together.  He’d empathized with her anguish.  That part of the dream had been accurate, at least.  For, if anyone could understand what it was like to feel different and alone, it was him. And he’d respected her, too.  It would have been so easy for her to use Guillaume – the love-sick knight who had been fawning all over her – and to transfer her curse onto him.  That way, she wouldn’t have had to face any potential consequences from the egg-ritual.  She could have used him and then dropped him immediately.  Never to see him again and leaving him to deal with any and all consequences alone.  Geralt had come across a lot of selfish, sorry people in the world that would have made that choice. But she hadn’t done that. She’d chosen the harder path.  It proved she possessed decency and honor, and Geralt respected her for it. </p><p> </p><p>              So, if he liked and respected her so much, then why had he rejected her amorous advances in his dream?  Especially, considering that he could freely admit that she was quite toothsome. Not only that, but it had been a long time since he’d last been with a woman. His last lover had been Shani, during the Olgierd contract, and that had been ages ago.  So, what exactly had stopped him during the dream?  An hour after the fact, he could still remember how uncomfortable he’d felt. There was obviously some part of him – a part that had been voiced by Dandelion - that had wanted to go through with it, but the predominant feeling he’d felt had been one of…Geralt wasn’t sure what the right word was.  Impropriety, perhaps? </p><p> </p><p>              The witcher nodded his head at that.  For he hadn’t broken her curse just so she’d have sex with him.  That hadn’t been his motivation at all.  Guillaume had paid him to lift the curse, but even if the knight hadn’t hired him, sleeping with Vivienne still wouldn’t have been his motivation.  The truth was, once he found out she was cursed, he would’ve helped her for free.  Because it was the right thing to do.  And her trying to sleep with him out of gratitude would have somehow cheapened the whole ordeal.  He wasn’t going to lie to himself.  In the past, he would have gladly accepted her ‘gift’ of thanks and not lost a wink of sleep over it.  But he wasn’t that man anymore.</p><p> </p><p>              “Or, hell, at least I hope I’m not,” he said out loud. “Besides, you’re old enough to be her grandfather.”</p><p> </p><p>              And with that thought, Geralt wished the woman well – wherever she was – and then went back to the business at hand.</p><p> </p><p>It wasn’t much later, after finishing his work with the grindstone, that he left the barn and headed north.  A brook of clean, cool water bubbled up behind the main house and meandered its way down the hill through his vineyard, irrigating the land, before continuing down the slope towards the Sansretour River a couple of miles away.  He stood atop an arched, wooden bridge that spanned the brook and peered back toward the east.  The sun was still below the horizon, but the sky in that direction was now a mixture of pink, purple, and blue.  The morning sunlight was bathing his estate in an almost magical glow, and as he peered out over his land – as he did most mornings – a small smile came to his lips. Geralt had never been a religious man. In fact, if anyone had asked him, he would have admitted to straddling the line between atheist and agnostic.  But every time he was able to find a sliver of solitude on his vineyard – especially in those silent hours around dusk and dawn – the experience was almost spiritual. Seeing the beauty of nature and connecting with it always seemed to restore his soul just a bit. It made him feel like maybe – just maybe – he was a part of something bigger than himself.  </p><p> </p><p>Not only did it renew his spirit, but looking out across his land always humbled him and made him grateful, as well. For his entire life, the only things he’d ever owned was his horse and whatever the two of them could carry.  And, in almost a century of living, his only real home had been the Path. He’d spent the majority of his life eating alone by campfires and sleeping under the stars – or, if he was lucky, in the loft of some peasant’s barn. But two years ago, all of that had changed when Duchess Anna Henrietta had bestowed upon him the Corvo Bianco vineyard as partial payment for completing the ‘Beast of Beauclair’ contract.  It had changed his life for it had allowed him to finally leave the witcher’s Path. He’d been contemplating retiring from monster-slaying for years.  Heck, he could even remember a conversation two decades ago with Dandelion on the very topic. But he didn’t think it would truly ever happen.  For no witcher ever retired. They just died.  Alone and bleeding out in some swamp, mausoleum, or dank cave. But the deed to Corvo Bianco had allowed him to be the exception to the rule.  So, even though his vineyard couldn’t compete with many others within the duchy in terms of size or reputation, he cherished it.  However, sometimes he wondered if maybe he prized it too much.  At times, he had the uncomfortable feeling that it owned him instead of the other way around.</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt was interrupted from his introspection by the sound of approaching footsteps. He glanced to his right to see Phillipe, one of his employees, yawing and scratching himself behind one ear as he stepped onto the bridge.  The handsome, young man stood next to the witcher, and, after finishing his yawn, he rested his hands on the railing and – like his employer – gazed out over the estate.  </p><p> </p><p>              “Quite the view.  Bet you Nordlings don’t have sunrises like this in the North, eh, Master Geralt?”</p><p> </p><p>              The witcher could hear the playful tone in his voice.  The two of them often exchanged banter about their respective homelands.</p><p> </p><p>              “’It’s true,” he agreed. “I’ve never seen any land quite like Toussaint.  But, the North, it’s got some breathtaking vistas as well.  I <em>dare</em> you to stand on a mountain peak on one of the Skellige Isles at sunset, watching the waves crash against the rocks below, and not be in awe.  There’s beauty there, too. It’s just more rugged.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Cold, rocky, rugged…kind of like the people then.”</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt laughed.</p><p> </p><p>              “Yeah…as opposed to perpetually tipsy like you Toussaintois.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Hey, if my lips don’t taste like wine, my wife won’t know their mine.”</p><p> </p><p>              “You know, that was funny…the first dozen times I heard it.”</p><p> </p><p>              Phillipe shrugged.  “Why mess with perfection?”</p><p> </p><p>              The mention of his wife made Geralt think of the man’s family – specifically, their recent addition.</p><p> </p><p>              “So, how’s Isabelle?”</p><p> </p><p>              A wide smile spread across the young man’s face.</p><p> </p><p>              “Ah, sir, she’s the apple of my eye. And a more beautiful baby you’ve never seen.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Must take after your wife, then.”</p><p> </p><p>              Phillipe laughed. “And praise Lebioda for that. I just hope that, with our next one, it won’t take so long. With Isabelle, Cecille was on my back for a year about getting pregnant.”</p><p> </p><p>              “On your back?  Well, that right there was the problem, then.”</p><p> </p><p>They both laughed at that.</p><p> </p><p>              “True, but we figured it out eventually. As they say, practice makes perfect.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Yeah, well, I don’t think I need to hear the details of that.”</p><p> </p><p>              After a moment, Phillipe looked around and then lowered his voice.</p><p> </p><p>              “In all seriousness, Master Geralt, I want to thank you again for the loan.  With an extra mouth to feed, times would’ve gotten tight.”</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt turned and faced the young man, peering intently into his eyes.</p><p> </p><p>              “Phillipe, I told you, it wasn’t a loan. It was a gift. For bringing a beautiful baby girl into the world. Plus, you’re a great hand.  I’d hate to lose you if you felt like you had to go elsewhere.  So, I don’t want to hear another word about it being a loan, okay?”</p><p> </p><p>              The young man blushed at the compliment but nodded his head.</p><p> </p><p>              “Yes, sir, and thank you again.”</p><p> </p><p>              “You’re welcome,” answered Geralt, clasping Phillipe on the shoulder. “Now, let’s start the day, shall we?”<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>              The witcher spent the rest of the morning making his way around the estate. The wife of the previous owner had at one point started a large garden of herbs on the northern side of the vineyard, and the year before, Geralt had decided to expand it to include a variety of fruits and vegetables.  Once every couple of weeks he’d take the produce into Beauclair to sell to the city-folk, and whatever was left over he’d share with his workers.  That morning, he spent an hour helping Marie pick ripened tomatoes, asking her about her family all the while. After that, he assisted Beatrice collecting eggs in the chicken coop until a loud crash and several shouts near the stables grabbed his attention. </p><p> </p><p>              His three youngest employees - all still teenagers – were trying, and failing, to repair the estate’s lone wagon.  A couple of days prior, the wagon’s rear axle had broken.  The boys had repaired it, but now, they were struggling to lift the wagon in order to put the axle back into place.  Geralt could see that they had tried using a block-and-tackle, but, apparently, the pully-system was malfunctioning. He listened to the three lads rain down curses and blame toward one another for a moment or two before he finally said, “Boys, let me help.”</p><p> </p><p>              He immediately went to the wagon and bent his legs to place himself into a squatting position.  He grabbed the bottom of the heavy wagon with both hands and, with an audible grunt, lifted it into the air.  The three teens just stood there awestruck so Geralt – the veins in his neck and arms now bulging - eventually said through clenched jaws, “How about you put the axle in place? That might help.”</p><p> </p><p>              The three scrambled to comply, and once the axle was properly secured, Geralt released his grip and let out a long, slow breath.  He looked at the three, and they were all just staring back at him wide-eyed.</p><p> </p><p>              “Good job, fellas.  If anyone asks, I’ll be down in the vines.”</p><p> </p><p>              He smirked to himself as he headed to the lower part of the estate where the grape vines were located.  With his advanced hearing, he’d overheard on multiple occasions the three teens discussing a variety of outlandish rumors about witchers.  He knew his latest act of strength would be fuel for their next conversation.</p><p> </p><p>              Unfortunately, the rest of the day wasn’t so exciting or rumor-worthy.  He spent the remainder of the morning and all afternoon meticulously checking the grapevines.  It was a tedious endeavor, but work that he considered necessary.  He checked every grape for even the slightest spot of fungus, and he also occasionally trimmed back the canopy.  Though, truth be told, it was only a leaf or two. For the vines didn’t need much more maintenance at that point.  Geralt tended to them every day – to the point that B.B had accused him of being obsessed.  The witcher conceded that his majordomo was probably right, but he just needed to get through this first harvest.  He’d never raised an infant of his own, but he’d had several conversations with Phillipe over the last few weeks, and as strange as it might sound, the way the new father spoke of his first child was similar to how Geralt felt about these vines.  Constantly worried that he was doing something wrong.  Wanting to make sure that he was doing everything possible to keep “her” healthy and safe. </p><p> </p><p>              “I just gotta get through the harvest,” he said to himself as the sun was setting behind Mount Gorgon. “Another month…and then I can relax.”</p><p> </p><p>oOo</p><p> </p><p>              “Un-bloody-believable,” the witcher said in a low voice.</p><p> </p><p>But it was still loud enough that B.B. heard him from the other side of the desk. It was well past sundown, and – as was their custom – the two men sat in Geralt’s study discussing that day’s events. They’d meet together each evening to discuss any new developments that might have cropped up on the estate in the previous twenty-four hours.  Especially, anything that might require immediate attention the following day.  </p><p> </p><p>              His dinner lay half-eaten on the desk nearby, and in his hands, he held an incredibly fancy parchment.  A rider from the North had brought it earlier in the evening in a special, cream-colored cylinder. The writing on the parchment was done in the most stylish of calligraphy.</p><p> </p><p>              “Sir?” asked B.B. with concern.</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt slowly lifted his head and eyes from the parchment in his hands. His brows were furrowed, and he opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out.  He shook his head and glanced back down at the parchment. He read it again. This time out loud:</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“The Lord and Lady Finkenbinder request the pleasure of your company</em>
</p><p>
  <em> at the marriage of their daughter, Priscilla Diane, to Julian Alfred Pancrantz</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Saturday, October 14<sup>th</sup> at half past five in the afternoon.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The Temple of Lebioda, Novigrad</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Doublet and Evening Gown Requested</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Reception Afterward”</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>              Underneath the invitation was a note written in a hand that the witcher would’ve recognized anywhere. He read the note again but only to himself.</p><p> </p><p>              <em>“Geralt, yeah, I know. The invitation is a bit subdued and inadequate. It doesn’t even mention my nom de plume, that I’m a master of the seven liberal arts, or any of my other distinguished accomplishments.  But what are you going to do?  Priscilla’s folks paid for them and apparently, they were charged by the letter.  Anyway, this is no prank. It’s all true. And I want you to be my best man.  It wouldn’t be the same without you. Come as soon as you get this.  </em></p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>              Dandelion”</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>              “Friends of yours, I presume?” said B.B.</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt just nodded his head, still unable to form coherent thoughts. He reached for his cup of wine on the desk and slowly downed half of it before looking at his majordomo.</p><p> </p><p>              “Dandelion…I can’t believe it.  <em>Dandelion</em> is getting married. And he wants me to be his best man.”</p><p> </p><p>              “<em>The</em> Dandelion, sir?  The bard? The one who was, well, <em>friends</em> with our beloved duchess?”</p><p> </p><p>              “The very same.”</p><p> </p><p>              “I wasn’t there in the square that day, but I heard that she’d ordered him to be hanged for…well, I guess that’s neither here nor there. When was that? Almost a decade ago?”</p><p> </p><p>              “About that, yeah. Though, he was to be beheaded, not hanged. Not that it matters.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Indeed. Well, then, shall I pack a bag for you, sir?”</p><p> </p><p>              “A bag? No, I…I can’t go to Novigrad. Not now.”</p><p> </p><p>              “But, sir, he’s your best friend is he not? How can you miss his wedding?”</p><p> </p><p>              “I’ll go to the next one. Because I’m sure this one won’t last.  None of his relationships ever have.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Sir, you can’t be serious.”</p><p> </p><p>              “The hell I can’t. He expects me to come now?  I’d miss the entire harvest.  There’s no way I can do that.  No way.  I swear, that idiot’s timing has always been for shit.”</p><p> </p><p>              B.B. didn’t say anything.  He just let out a low sigh instead.  He stared back at Geralt for a few moments with a pensive look on his face before finally reaching into an inner pocket and pulling out a kerchief.  He removed his spectacles and then methodically cleaned the lenses before placing the kerchief and glasses back in their original locations.</p><p> </p><p>              “Sir, if I may ask – when was the last time you took a day off.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Day off? What do you mean exactly?”</p><p> </p><p>              “I mean a day in which you did not work.  A day in which you did nothing for the advancement of the vineyard. A day that was strictly for yourself and your pleasure.”</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt looked away for a moment, lost in thought.<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>              “I…well, there was…no....” Finally, he sighed and peered back at B.B. “Why does it matter?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Sir, in two years, you have not taken a single day for yourself.  Not a single one.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Yeah…and? Isn’t that something to be admired? Not mocked?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Sir, heaven forbid. I’d never mock you.  You should know me better than that. I’m only concerned for you. For your well-being.”</p><p> </p><p>              “My well-being?”</p><p> </p><p>              B.B. nodded.</p><p> </p><p>              “I am your majordomo, sir. The man responsible for every detail on this estate, and even I take a day for myself once a week. A day away from the responsibilities. A day to renew my spirits. But you? More times than not you fall asleep here at your desk instead of your bed.  If I didn’t bring you food, I fear you’d forget to eat.  And, frankly, sir, you look exhausted.  And, now, on top of everything else, you’re having strange nightmares. So, yes, I’m concerned for your health, sir.”</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt didn’t reply at first.  He was thinking over everything his steward had just said. Finally, he swallowed, nodded, and spoke.</p><p> </p><p>              “It’s just until the harvest, B.B.  Once the grapes are in, then I’ll relax. Then, I’ll take some time off.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Are you sure, sir? Because after the harvest will be the process of turning the grapes into wine.  And the barreling process.  And then selling and shipping the barrels. Not to mention the harvesting of our olive orchard.  And then getting the vines prepped for the winter. And so on and so on. The work on a vineyard never stops.  So, do you<em> truly</em> believe that you’ll be able to relax after the harvest? To take a holiday?” </p><p> </p><p>              Geralt didn’t answer. He just brought his hand up to his face and rubbed it across the whiskers on his jaw a couple of times.  </p><p> </p><p>              “May I ask a personal question, sir?”</p><p> </p><p>              The witcher sighed and nodded.</p><p> </p><p>              “Would you consider yourself to be content, sir?  Does working on this vineyard day after day give you peace and fulfillment down in your soul?”</p><p> </p><p>              The look on Geralt’s face was one of confusion, but it slowly turned thoughtful.</p><p> </p><p>              “I…I don’t know.  Peace and fulfillment? Hell, I’m not even sure if I’ve <em>ever</em> truly known what those are. I thought at one time I might have those things with – well, with a certain woman I knew.  But I was wrong. <em>Very</em> wrong.  It was the exact opposite of peace. There were moments with her when I felt those things – or, at least, thought I did – but they were always so fleeting. They never lasted.  So, I don’t know, B.B.  While I’m incredibly grateful to own this place, and the work can be rewarding, I’m not sure that I’d go so far as to say that the work truly fulfills me…or gives me peace down in my soul.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Then why do you do it, sir? What is compelling you to work yourself to death?”</p><p> </p><p>              The office was quiet for the longest time after that.  Neither man saying a word. Only the sound of the ticking cuckoo clock on the wall could be heard. Eventually, Geralt exhaled deeply and peered intently into his steward’s eyes.</p><p> </p><p>              “I’ve never talked with you about the Path, have I? About my life before this?”</p><p> </p><p>              “No, sir.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Well, I learned early on that I was going to have to scrape, claw, fight, and bleed if I wanted anything in this world. Including just staying alive. <em>Nothing</em> came easy. And <em>nothing</em> was ever just given to me.  Even my witcher swords I had to earn – through years of training and pain…and mutations.  And then I learned that I had to work just as hard if I was going to keep what I had.  Neglected swords quickly dulled.  Rips and tears in my gambeson – and my flesh – had to be stitched up immediately.  My horse required constant care.  Oils, potions, and bombs needed to be replenished.  On the Path…there are no days off. Not if you want to live for long. It’s…it’s all I know.”</p><p> </p><p>              B.B. nodded in understanding.</p><p> </p><p>              “How long were you on the Path, sir?”</p><p> </p><p>              “About eighty years.”</p><p> </p><p>              The majordomo raised his eyebrows at that.</p><p> </p><p>              “I…I didn’t realize you were…”</p><p> </p><p>              “That old?”</p><p> </p><p>              They both smiled.</p><p> </p><p>              “Yes, sir.  The Path, it sounds like a very hard life.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Yeah. And I don’t particularly want to go back to it.  That’s why I can’t lose this place.  But it’s…it’s not just for me that I want to keep it.  I’ve got eight people depending upon me.  Eight people besides me whose livelihoods are tied to this place, too.”</p><p> </p><p>              B.B. smiled upon hearing that.</p><p> </p><p>              “Well, sir, your work ethic is admirable. Nobody can question that.  Nor your kindness.  I can honestly say that you’re the best employer I’ve ever had.  And I know that Marie and Phillipe and all the rest would agree.  We all respect you greatly. It’s a shame that not all landed gentlemen treat their help as you do.”</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt let out a short laugh.</p><p> </p><p>              “A landed gentleman.  I swear – I don’t think I’ll ever consider myself that.  I sure as hell don’t <em>feel</em> like a landed gentleman.”</p><p> </p><p>“With all due respect, sir, since when does one’s feelings negate reality? You may not <em>feel</em> like a landed gentleman, but that’s what you are.  So, why not live as one?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah? And just what exactly would that look like?”</p><p> </p><p>“To live a life of leisure. After eight decades on the Path, sir, if <em>anyone’s</em> earned it, it’s you.”</p><p> </p><p>“A life of <em>leisure</em>. I don’t even know what the hell that means. What would I do?”</p><p> </p><p>“Whatever you wanted. Throw parties, travel, take up a hobby.”</p><p> </p><p>“A hobby? Like what? Bug collecting? Knitting?”</p><p> </p><p>“Whatever you’d like, sir,” answered the steward with a smile. “Perhaps, you could finally find that one thing that would bring you peace and fulfillment.”</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t know, B.B. If that’s what it means to be a landed gentleman, then I don’t think I care to act like one. Because I’m not sure that <em>any</em> of that sounds like me.”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, sir, perhaps you could ease your way into it.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah? And how exactly would I do that?”</p><p> </p><p>“Taking a few weeks off might be a good first step, sir. By going to Novigrad and being best man in your best friend’s wedding?”</p><p> </p><p>A low growl came to his throat as he shook his head.</p><p> </p><p>“You want me to leave during the most important month of the year?”</p><p> </p><p>B.B. was quiet for a moment.</p><p> </p><p>“Do you trust me, sir?” he finally asked.</p><p> </p><p>              The question was so unexpected that Geralt couldn’t immediately answer.</p><p> </p><p>              “What? Yeah. Of course. You’re invaluable. You know that. This place would fall apart without you.”</p><p> </p><p>              “That’s kind of you to say, sir. But if you truly trust me, then show it. As you know, I’ve supervised over a dozen harvests in my years as a majordomo. So, trust me, when I say – I can handle this estate while you are gone.  I mean, that is why I am here, correct? To be your steward…so that you don’t have to be here every minute of every day.”</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt looked B.B. in the eyes, his words starting to hit home.</p><p> </p><p>              “This isn’t the Path, sir.  You’re no longer alone. You have people here that you can rely on.”</p><p> </p><p>              With those words, Geralt nodded and sat back in his chair. Finally, a small smile came to his lips.</p><p> </p><p>              “Okay,” he said, raising his hands in surrender. “Looks like this <em>landed gentleman</em> is going to a wedding.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Excellent, sir!” said the majordomo with a smile. “I know you won’t regret it.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Yeah, let’s hope not.  But, just to be safe, I’d better go put an edge on my witcher swords.”</p><p> </p><p>              B.B. laughed.</p><p> </p><p>              “Your swords, sir?  You’re taking your swords to a wedding?”</p><p> </p><p>              “You’ve never met the famous bard, Dandelion, have you?”</p><p> </p><p>              “No, sir. I have not had the pleasure.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Yeah, well, the man attracts trouble like…”</p><p> </p><p>              “Like a honeycomb attracts bears?”</p><p> </p><p>              “More like a dung heap and flies. So…I’m bringing my swords.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>            Geralt stood on Glory Lane as the sun was setting and scanned the building in front of him.  He realized he hadn’t seen it in years, and much had changed in that time.  The one-time three-story cabaret was now two floors taller.  What’s more, the house on the lot next to it had at some point been bought, remodeled, and now acted as an expansion.  Not only that but, in the intervening years, Dandelion had also added covered stables in the back for the clientele’s mounts - stables where Roach was now eating and resting from the long journey. All the wood on the cabaret looked like it had been recently lacquered in a fresh coat, and the heavy, burgundy drapes on the balconies of the upper floors appeared clean and new, as well.  Obviously, the bard was doing quite well for himself.</p><p> </p><p>              A smile came to the witcher’s face as he pulled the cowl of his cloak over his head.  With his saddle bags over one shoulder and with his swords in hand by his side, he began walking across the road toward the entrance of the cabaret.  Whatever frustration he’d felt toward Dandelion after first receiving the wedding invitation had disappeared on the journey north, and somewhere along the way, he’d forgiven his friend for his unintentionally poor timing. And while his thoughts on the trail had been focused almost entirely on his vineyard, he now just wanted to put those concerns aside, sit down with his old pal, and share a bottle of vodka, some well-worn stories and maybe a few laughs.  That was one thing he’d always valued about the bard.  As annoying as the popinjay could be, he could also make the witcher laugh. And there weren’t a whole lot of people in the world who could say that.  Or, at least, there hadn’t been in the past.  Geralt could admit that he’d learned to laugh and smile much more in the last two years since leaving the Path. ‘<em>Who could have guessed</em>?’ he thought to himself.   Apparently facing mortal danger on a weekly basis for ungrateful – and sometimes thieving - peasants could make a man grumpy.</p><p> </p><p>              The witcher made his way through the front door and was immediately taken aback by what he saw.  It looked like the interior of the cabaret had doubled in size. The stage was still in its same location – toward the right as one entered – but it was twice as large as it had been. The bar was now at the back of the new, expanded room and took up the entire wall.  There were rows upon rows of different-colored bottles of alcohol lining the shelves behind the bar. But the biggest difference was the ceiling above the stage. It was mostly missing, and much of the second floor now acted as a balcony and provided customers with a view of the stage below.  However, one particular item had remained constant despite the cabaret’s renovation - the incredibly large painting hanging on the far wall.  In it, Dandelion was standing over a downed wyvern, thrusting a ridiculously enormous sword through the monster’s body.  The bard’s scrawny legs were depicted as incredibly muscular and straining against his tights, and his cape fluttered in the wind behind him – giving him the appearance of one of the heroes of his epic ballads.   The first time that the witcher had even seen the painting, he’d shaken his head and rolled his eyes at the nonsensical display, but now, he couldn’t help but to smirk slightly at the sight. </p><p> </p><p>              Geralt scanned the large, dimly-lit first floor for any familiar faces.  There was a band on the stage singing an upbeat ditty. Dozens of tables were filled with patrons eating and drinking, and numerous waitstaff moved about fulfilling the customers’ needs.  But in that mass of humanity, he saw neither Dandelion nor Priscilla.  He began moving towards the back bar when his eyes suddenly landed on an old friend, and a smile automatically came to his lips. A burly, bearded, red-headed dwarf stood on a high box at one end of the bar. His muscular arms were crossed over his barrel chest, and his eyes were passing back and forth over the clientele. To Geralt, it looked as if the dwarf was looking for any signs of trouble. Therefore, he did his best to stay near the walls, in the shadows. For he wanted to surprise his old friend. It was only a few moments later that he approached the dwarf from the side. He shuffled up close, quietly and undetected - as only a witcher could - and then spoke in a low voice, but one that could still be heard over the music and din.</p><p> </p><p>              “Rumor has it that you’re the man to see if one’s interested in stolen Gwent cards. That right?”<br/><br/></p><p>              Zoltan’s head swiveled quickly upon hearing the accusation. Geralt could see the suspicion etched into his craggy features, and then, suddenly, his eyes went wide as the witcher dropped his cowl.</p><p> </p><p>              “Huzzah! By Lebioda’s saggy bawbag!” He exclaimed. “You made it! You finally made it!”</p><p> </p><p>              The two shook hands and then gave each other a couple of fierce pats on the back.</p><p> </p><p>              “How long’s it been, pal?”</p><p> </p><p>              “A few years,” answered Geralt. “But you haven’t aged a bit.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Nor you.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Clean living?”</p><p> </p><p>              Zoltan laughed.</p><p> </p><p>              “Shut yer gob.  I’m a dwarf. Clean living would probably kill me. And you?”</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt shook his head. “Witcher mutations.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Then, let’s have a tipple.” He turned to the bartender. “Piotr, a bottle of vodka, if you’d please.”</p><p> </p><p>              “So, where’s Dandelion – the man of the hour?”</p><p> </p><p>              Suddenly, the smile on Zoltan’s face vanished.  He glanced to his left and right before he spoke in a low voice.</p><p> </p><p>              “Missing. And nobody knows where.” Before Geralt could get out a question, Zoltan added, “Let’s get some privacy.”</p><p> </p><p>              The dwarf led the witcher to a storage room near the bar and then through a maze of alcohol-filled crates stacked high.  To one side of the room was a desk with chairs, and like Geralt’s desk back home, this one was also covered in ledgers and paper. After clearing a space on the desk with a swipe of his forearm, he placed two mugs down and filled them up halfway with some of Redania’s finest.  He lifted his mug and peered into Geralt’s eyes.</p><p> </p><p>              “To finding the little shite…safe,” he said before downing half the mug.</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt followed suit and then set his mug on the desk.</p><p> </p><p>              “How long’s he been gone?”</p><p> </p><p>              “More ‘an a week.”</p><p> </p><p>              The witcher raised his eyebrows at that.</p><p> </p><p>              “So, two weeks before his wedding he disappears?  With no word to anyone? No hint of what was going on?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Nay, he left a note for Priscilla. Basically, said that he had to take care of some important business. But that she shouldnae worry. It wouldnae take long.”</p><p> </p><p>              “That’s it?”</p><p> </p><p>              Zoltan nodded.</p><p> </p><p>              “And nobody’s seen him?”</p><p> </p><p>              Zoltan shook his head this time.  “I’ve looked everywhere. Talked to all my connections. Nobody knows nothing. It’s like he just vanished. Which had to be one hell of a trick.  I mean, the man is well-known ‘round town.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Just how worried are you? Think it could be something serious or…just Dandelion being Dandelion? He can be a little flaky, you know?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Aye, I’m well aware.  I’ve been his manager here for several years now.  I ken first-hand about his flights of fancy. Calls them his ‘liberating, creative orgasms.’”</p><p> </p><p>              “Well, that’s a bit disgusting.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Don’t I know.  Anyhoo, he says he sometimes gets ideas and moods that just have to be let out.  But I’m not sure that’s the case this time.”</p><p> </p><p>              “What makes you say so?”</p><p> </p><p>              “The way he was acting before he disappeared.  He seemed terrified.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Cold feet about the wedding?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Maybe, but I don’t think so.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Then, what else could it be?  I’m not in his life anymore, Zoltan. You know that.  So, what’s he gotten himself into that could scare him so badly?”</p><p> </p><p>              The dwarf sighed.</p><p> </p><p>              “You know the man. He’s always had an inflated opinion of himself and his abilities. Likes to meddle in affairs of state. Rub elbows with monarchs.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Yeah, which usually ends up with his scrawny neck on a chopping block or in a hang-man’s noose.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Well, he hasn’t changed. He’s working – even if it’s just in some minor capacity - for Redania’s illustrious leader, Chancellor Dijkstra.”</p><p> </p><p>              “What? Spying for him again?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Not actively, mind you,” answered Zoltan, after nodding his head. “But, aye, just keeping his eyes and ears open here at the cabaret.  We’ve turned this place into a high-end establishment, Geralt.  So, it’s not unusual at all to have the heads of various ministry departments take in a meal and a show.  At times, we even have foreign emissaries grace us with their presence. Occasionally, they’ll even take a room for the evening.”</p><p> </p><p>              “And let me guess, not always with their spouse.”  Zoltan nodded his head. “So, Dandelion’s disappearance could have something to do with spying for Dijkstra. Have you talked to him about it?”</p><p> </p><p>              “You jest,” he scoffed. “I’m a wee, simple dwarf who’s never actually met the man, but even if I had, it wouldn’t matter.  He’s Redania’s Chancellor now.  There’s no way he’d see a nobody like me. But he knows you so…”</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt let out a long sigh.</p><p> </p><p>              “Damn it.  The entire ride up here, I was really hoping I wouldn’t even run into the prickly pig. I’m not exactly his favorite person. What the hell is a ‘chancellor’ anyway?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Just a more palatable word for overlord.  King, Emperor, Chancellor – a hammer by any name crushes you just the same.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Nice. Very poetic. Dandelion would approve.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Guess the clobberhead’s rubbing off on me,” the dwarf said with a shrug.</p><p> </p><p>              “At least your new ‘hammer’ can’t be worse than Radovid, though, right? I didn’t see a single witch or nonhuman burned at the stake when I entered the city.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Aye, I’ll give him that. He has severely reined in the zealots of the Eternal Fire. Has even got a sorceress advisor on his council.”</p><p> </p><p>              “I’m guessing not Philippa Eilhart.”</p><p> </p><p>              Zoltan chuckled.</p><p> </p><p>              “And why not? She only tried to murder him once. That’s probably considered foreplay for people like them. But, nah, not Eilhart. That blonde chickie that was with us at Kaer Morhen.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Keira Metz?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Aye. That’s the one. I won’t ask just how well you’re acquainted with her. Knowing you and sorceresses, I can already guess.”</p><p> </p><p>              “This is good,” said Geralt, ignoring Zoltan’s last comment as he rubbed his hand down the beard on his jaw. “I may not have to deal with Dijkstra, after all.”</p><p> </p><p>“Perhaps, but Dijkstra isn’t the only nekker in the nest.”</p><p> </p><p>              “What do you mean?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Carlo Varese. You remember him?”</p><p> </p><p>              “The dwarf crime boss? Cleaver?”</p><p> </p><p>              “The very same.”</p><p> </p><p>              “What the hell?  Dandelion’s mixed up with him, too? What in the world possessed him?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Said he needed money. So, the dunderhead took out a loan with Cleaver.”</p><p> </p><p>              “With <em>Cleaver</em>? Why not with Vivaldi? The cabaret’s obviously booming. He could have gotten a loan from Vimme, no problem.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Said that Cleaver gave him an offer he couldn’t refuse. Not sure exactly what that meant.  But if Cleaver said it, it can’t be good.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Have you spoken to Cleaver about Dandelion going missing?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Are you off your head? I haven’t the foggiest why Dandelion up and vanished, but I wasn’t going to let one of the biggest crime lords in the city know about it.  Next thing you’d know, he’d have his men in here, taking over the place. And don’t think the fact that I’m a dwarf would give me any special standing in Cleaver’s eyes.”</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt sat back in his chair and exhaled deeply.</p><p> </p><p>              “So, both Dijkstra and Cleaver have their hooks into Dandelion.”  He reached forward, grabbed his mug, and drained the rest of the vodka.  “At least I got a couple of places to start.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Well…tread carefully.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Uh huh.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Now, let’s go see, Priscilla. She’ll be relieved you’re finally here.”</p><p> </p><p>              “How’s she been?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Oof…not herself. Been an absolute nervous wreck. So, be gentle with the lass.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Hey, it’s me.”</p><p> </p><p>The witcher almost looked offended, which made Zoltan smile.</p><p> </p><p>              “Aye, I know. That’s why I said it.”</p><p> </p><p>oOo</p><p> </p><p>              “If I wasn’t so nervous, I’d feel guilty,” said Priscilla.</p><p> </p><p>              The trobairitz and the witcher were sitting alone on the couch in her den.  Zoltan had excused himself, saying he needed to head back down to keep a watchful eye on the main room.</p><p> </p><p>When Geralt had first walked into Priscilla and Dandelion’s living quarters - which took up the entire second floor of the new addition to the cabaret – his eyes had immediately fallen on the singer.  He wasn’t surprised at all to see that she was just as beautiful as he’d remembered despite the fact that her eyes were red-rimmed from crying. What had surprised him, though, was that, as soon as she’d seen him, she had rushed into his arms, clinging to him tightly while bawling on his shoulder.  Geralt had hugged her back, but all the while, he was looking at Zoltan with a ‘what the hell am I supposed to do?’ look on his face. Zoltan had just shrugged and mouthed back, “I told you so.”</p><p> </p><p> Eventually, Priscilla stopped crying and led Geralt to the couch where he gently asked her about her missing fiancé.  Unfortunately, she wasn’t really able to add anything new to what Zoltan had already told him. She had no clue why he would just up and disappear. Though, she was able to verify for Geralt that the note she’d received a few days past had definitely been in Dandelion’s handwriting. Of course, that didn’t really mean anything. The witcher knew that – if the bard had been kidnapped – he could have easily been forced to write the note.</p><p> </p><p>While they spoke, the witcher quickly scanned his surroundings.  The room was filled with – what looked to Geralt to be – incredibly expensive pieces of art and furniture.  Which didn’t really surprise him. Dandelion had always had very expensive tastes – even back when he couldn’t afford them.  The troubadour had always enjoyed the finer things in life. It’s just that, in the past, his pursuits had focused mostly on wine, women, and food.  And his lute, of course.  But, apparently, he’d expanded his interests since becoming ‘domesticated.’ Either that, or he’d simply decorated the place to please his future wife.</p><p> </p><p>              “Guilty?” asked Geralt bringing his attention back to Priscilla. “About what?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Well, it seems that every time we meet, I’m having to ask you to come to the rescue.”</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt smiled to try to put her at ease.</p><p> </p><p>              “Yeah, well, just one more thing you and Dandelion have in common then.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Maybe so,” she said with a tired smile, “but I’m not sure that’s the basis for a good relationship. There needs to be some reciprocity in a friendship, right?  I’m honestly not sure what you get out of it.”</p><p> </p><p>              “You let me worry about that.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Are you sure?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Uh huh.”</p><p> </p><p>              Suddenly, she burst out crying again and flung herself into his arms. Geralt let her cry on his shoulder, but while he tenderly patted her on the back and said, “It’ll be okay. I’ll find him,” he was actually thinking, <em>‘What the hell is going on?’</em> For he’d never seen Priscilla act so emotional before.  When he’d first met the trobairitz, Dandelion was, like now, missing and in some serious danger, but throughout that entire episode, she’d always kept her composure.  He’d never seen her cry once, but now…?</p><p>             </p><p>              “I’m so sorry,” she said as she pulled away from him and brought a lace kerchief up to dab her eyes.  “I…I’m just so emotional lately.”</p><p> </p><p>              “It’s okay. It’s understandable. I’m here to help.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Do you really mean that?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Of course.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Then, in addition to finding my fiancé, I really need your help in the morning, as well.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Okay. With what?”</p><p> </p><p>              “I, uh, I’ve got a meeting with the Lebiodan priest who is supposed to officiate the ceremony.  Could you come with me? Please?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Sure. Sounds simple enough. But since when did you and Dandelion turn religious?”</p><p> </p><p>              “We’re not. It’s strictly for my parents’ sake. But you’ll do it?</p><p> </p><p>              “Of course.”</p><p> </p><p>              She let out an audible sigh.</p><p> </p><p>              “That’s wonderful. Thank you.” She then swallowed. “You’ll have to pretend to be Dandelion,” she added quickly.</p><p> </p><p>              “Wait – what?”</p><p> </p><p>              “It’s just a formality, really.  My parents are devout followers of Lebioda, and one of their stipulations for blessing our marriage was that Dandelion and I had to have the wedding officiated by a Lebiodan priest.  And he’s requiring us to meet with him at least once prior to the wedding.”</p><p> </p><p>              “For what exactly?” The witcher’s voice was filled with suspicion.</p><p> </p><p>              “I’m sure he just wants to get to know us a bit better. That’s all.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Swell.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Of course, if you find Dandelion tonight and bring him home, then you won’t have to worry about the meeting.”</p><p> </p><p>              With that, Geralt stood.</p><p> </p><p>              “I’d better hop to it then.”</p><p> </p><p>oOo</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt was in his room in the Chameleon, unpacking his saddle bags, when there was a knock on his door.  He figured it was either Zoltan or Priscilla - that they’d forgotten to tell him something. Because no one else even knew he was in town.  So, he was surprised when, after opening the door, he came face-to-face with a complete stranger.  It was an old woman with long gray hair and a wart on her cheek.  When she saw the witcher, she smiled widely, showing several missing teeth. </p><p> </p><p>              “I think you’ve got the wrong room,” said Geralt.</p><p> </p><p>              The hag quickly peered to her left and right – verifying that the hallway was empty.</p><p> </p><p>              “That’s where you’re wrong, Geralt,” she said as her face suddenly began to morph – her features grotesquely changing shape.</p><p> </p><p>              The witcher immediately grabbed his knife from the scabbard on his thigh but stopped when he saw the woman’s new face.  In a flash, he pulled the hag into his room, stuck his head out into the hallway to make sure no one else had seen anything, and then slammed the door behind him.</p><p> </p><p>              “Dudu!” he said, shaking the doppler’s hand. “How’d you even know I was here?”</p><p> </p><p>              The shape-shifter was now in the form of a halfling, and he no longer wore a smile on his face.</p><p> </p><p>              “Dandelion told me to keep watch for you.”</p><p> </p><p>              “So, you’ve spoken with him? You know where he is?”</p><p> </p><p>              Dudu shook his head.</p><p> </p><p>              “About a week ago, a man came to Whoreson’s – well, <em>my</em> - place of business with a parchment.  The note was from Dandelion.  He said he was in deep trouble. Trouble that only you could fix.  He told me not to say a word to anyone else.  Told me to change my appearance, hide out here and wait for you.  And, then, I was supposed to give you this.”</p><p> </p><p>              He handed the witcher a folded parchment.</p><p> </p><p>              “Did you question the messenger?” asked Geralt.  “Ask where he got the parchment?”</p><p> </p><p>              “I did. He said that he was at Crippled Kate’s and that some stranger approached him with the note and paid him to take it to Whoreson Junior. I later went to the brothel myself to ask around, but no one there had seen Dandelion. Or, at least, that’s what they claimed.”</p><p> </p><p>              At that point, Geralt looked at the note in his hand and noticed that the wax seal was broken.</p><p> </p><p>              “You already read this?”</p><p> </p><p>              Dudu nodded. “I didn’t at first – respecting his privacy. But, a couple of days later, after Zoltan showed up asking if I’d seen Dandelion, I got really worried. So, I took a peek. Thought maybe I could help.”</p><p> </p><p>              “And?”</p><p> </p><p>              “He wrote it in code,” the doppler answered, shaking his head.  “I hope you’ll be able to decipher it.”</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt looked down and slowly opened the parchment.  In Dandelion’s hand was written:</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“You’ll find me where there’s a week’s worth of Marmalade. Follow the name that you called me when we very first met.”</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>The witcher read it through twice and then turned the paper over to make sure there was nothing else written on the back. </p><p> </p><p>              “Not much to go on, huh?” asked Dudu.</p><p> </p><p>              “No, not much,” agreed Geralt as he walked towards his bed.</p><p> </p><p>              “Do you understand it? Do you know where he is?”</p><p> </p><p>              The witcher strapped his swords on his back and placed his witcher medallion around his neck.  He then peered into the doppler’s eyes.</p><p> </p><p>              “We’ll see.”     </p><p> </p><p>oOo</p><p> </p><p>              “A beautiful sight – wouldn’t you say, Lady Vivienne?”</p><p> </p><p>              Count Dufrene stood at the railing of <em>The Charlemagne </em>with a martini in hand.  Next to him was Vivienne de Tabris, former lady-in-waiting for the Duchess of Toussaint.  The sun had just set below the horizon of the Great Sea, which she was very thankful for.  The time around dusk and dawn always stirred up certain urges in her.  Urges that she would have been quite embarrassed about if anyone discovered.  She had learned to control them, but she was always relieved when they subsided. She was staring straight ahead, towards the east, so that the count was unable to see her give a slight roll of her eyes. The man had been hounding her steps from almost the moment that the ship had left Pont Vanis.</p><p> </p><p>              “Indeed, Count Dufrene,” she replied politely. “It’s quite picturesque.”</p><p> </p><p>              She did her best at that point to ignore the man and simply enjoy the sight in front of her, for she was viewing the port-city of Novigrad for the very first time. She wasn’t sure that she had ever seen a city that size.  The city’s lights blinked at her for miles in every direction, and as they reflected off the calm water of the harbor, they looked like the stars in the sky.  Which was something that the golden-haired beauty never took for granted – being able to live out underneath the stars, around other people, and not fear their reaction. For, up until to two years ago, she rarely ventured out in public after sunset. </p><p> </p><p>              Vivienne had been born under a curse, and as the years progressed, the symptoms continued to worsen.  Symptoms that included being transformed into the likeness of an oriole after sundown. Over the years, she had tried everything she could to break the curse – visiting sorceresses, hedge-witches, old crones, and every magically-adept person she could find. Some had given her special elixirs to drink or ointments to apply, but none of the solutions had worked. At least, not permanently.  They’d only been stop-gaps, temporary measures that slowed the curse’s progress but were unable to break it.  And then fate had brought into her life the Witcher, Geralt of Rivia, and that memory made her smile.</p><p> </p><p>              At first, she had assumed that the witcher was tracking her down in order to kill her.  For that’s what witchers did, right? Kill monsters. In fact, she had even resigned herself to the fact that he was going to end her life. But that’s not what had happened at all. Who could have ever guessed that he would end up being the answer to her prayers? That her knight in shining armor would turn out to be gruff and not so shiny?  Instead, he’d been a white-haired, cat-eyed, scarred-up witcher who rode an old mare and sported ripped and stitched-up gear. Gear that’s best days had been several years in the past.</p><p> </p><p>              “So, Vivienne” said the count, bringing her out of her thoughts. “Have you and your cousin made lodging arrangements in the city yet?”</p><p> </p><p>              Vivienne’s cousin, Marissa, stood at the ship’s railing on the other side of her.  Though the two were related – their mothers were sisters – you couldn’t tell by looking at them.  In contrast to Vivienne’s tall, lithe figure, golden-blonde hair and green eyes, her cousin was dark-haired with brown eyes, shorter and much more voluptuous.  She considered her breasts to be her best feature and routinely wore low-cut dresses to put them on display.</p><p> </p><p>Vivienne paused for a moment, unsure of how to answer Count Dufrene’s question so Marissa piped up, instead.</p><p> </p><p>              ‘Well, we were planning on staying-”</p><p> </p><p>              “We haven’t yet decided,” interrupted Vivienne and giving her cousin a stern, sideways look.  “Perhaps, you could enlighten us. Where will you be lodging, sir?”</p><p> </p><p>              “There are several adequate hotels and inns in the city, but for my money, none can compare to the Royal Ambassador. It’s recently constructed - with marble staircases, beautiful tapestries, and crystal chandeliers.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Yes, that does sound exquisite,” stated Vivienne with a smile.</p><p> </p><p>              “Perhaps, we could share a coach there?” he asked.</p><p> </p><p>              “Of course!” answered Marissa at the same time that Vivienne said, “Unfortunately, that won’t be possible.”</p><p> </p><p>              The two women stared at each other, both with disapproving looks on their faces. Eventually, Vivienne turned back the count.</p><p> </p><p>              “But we greatly appreciate the offer.  Now, excuse us, please. We must prepare for our arrival. Good evening, Count Dufrene.  Come along, Marissa.”</p><p> </p><p>              The two women were just out of earshot when Marissa hissed, “I don’t know what’s wrong with you.  The man is gorgeous…and rich.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Then, he is all yours, sweet cousin.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Yes, well, as usual, he – along with every other man on this Continent – seems to be in love with you. Not me.”</p><p> </p><p>              Vivienne smiled.</p><p> </p><p>              “He’ll live. And I’m sure you can console him.”</p><p> </p><p>              Marissa smiled back mischievously.</p><p> </p><p>              “Yes, I am quite good at that.”</p><p> </p><p>              She then grabbed her cousin by the hand.</p><p> </p><p>              “Now, come on, Viv! It’s Novigrad! Let’s have some fun!”</p><p> </p><p>oOo</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt’s friendship with Dandelion spanned a quarter of a century, and during all of those years, he knew that the two of them had shared a lot of stories around campfires and hearths. But the witcher honestly didn’t remember telling Dandelion the story of his very first friend at Kaer Morhen – an orange, tabby cat that he had named Marmalade.  Frankly, he had never liked recalling his time growing up and training at the Wolf school, but he’d obviously shared that tale with the bard at some point.  To Geralt, “a week’s worth of Marmalade” could only mean a week’s worth – or seven days’ worth – of cats.  Thus, that’s why, several hours after sundown, Geralt was approaching the Seven Cats Inn – a tavern a few miles south of Novigrad.</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt had been inside the Seven Cats on several occasions so he knew that it attracted a rougher clientele – outlaws, assassins, nagging wives, and the like. Therefore, after throwing Roach’s reins over a hitching post, he grabbed the strap across his chest and adjusted the swords on his back before entering the front door of the tavern.  Inside, the inn was smoky, loud, and hot – especially compared to the cold, clean autumn night from whence he’d just came.  He stood near the entrance for a moment, scanning the clientele, but Dandelion was nowhere to be seen.  He maneuvered carefully through the crowd, doing his best not to jostle anyone.  The last thing he wanted was have to drop hands – or worse, pull his sword – with some drunken, belligerent fool.  He walked around the tavern, checking every dark corner, but the bard wasn’t present.  So, he finally made his way to the innkeep-bartender, a surly-looking bloke who was wiping down a mug with a dirty rag.</p><p> </p><p>              The witcher spoke in a low voice but also leaned across the bar in order to be heard over the noise.</p><p> </p><p>              “I’m looking for a Mister…Buttercup. He around?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Don’t know. What’s it worth to you?”</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt let out a long sigh. <em>“Why do people always have to be so difficult?”</em> he asked himself.</p><p> </p><p>              “Look, he’s expecting me. So, I shouldn’t have to pay to find out if he’s here or not.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Yeah, and I shouldn’t have been dealt a bunch of no-account, lazy spawn. But there ya go.  Life’s a bitch. I blame their mothers.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Of course, you do,” the witcher answered, and then he snatched the ledger off the bar top.  He quickly scanned the column until he found what he was looking for.  The bard had rented room number five under the name, ‘Buder Kupz.’  He closed the book and tossed it at the clearly-angry innkeep.</p><p> </p><p>              “Thanks for your help,” said Geralt before heading for the stairs.</p><p> </p><p>              He moved quickly through the crowd and then took the stairs – two at a time – up to the second floor. Once there, he paused and unsheathed his sword, for he had no idea what trouble might be waiting for him.  He began slowly walking down the hallway and listening intently, doing his best to ignore the noise coming from the main room below.  Eventually, he stopped just outside of room number five and put his ear close to the door, but he heard no sounds coming from within. After a moment, he pounded on the door with the back of his fist three times.  He heard the sound of a chair scraping across the floor and footsteps quickly approaching the other side of the door.</p><p> </p><p>              “Who is it?” came a rattled voice. But though it was rattled, it was a voice he knew well.</p><p> </p><p>              “It’s me. Now, open up.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Who – who’s me?”</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt rolled his eyes.</p><p> </p><p>              “It’s maid service. I’m here to turn down your bed.  Who the hell do you think it is?  Now, open up, Buttercup.”</p><p> </p><p>              He heard a latch being turned and the door opened an inch.  As soon as it did, the witcher’s medallion twitched, causing his eyes to widen. He moved in a flash, barreling into the door and diving into the room. He came up on the balls of his feet with his sword pointing at a man sprawled out on the floor. A man who looked nothing like Dandelion. He was dressed in the brown, gray, and dirty clothes of a peasant. He had a bushy, gray beard; wore thick, black-framed glasses; and on top of his head was a floppy, wide-brimmed hat.  The witcher moved sideways toward the door and then slammed it closed with his foot while never taking his eyes off the stranger.</p><p> </p><p>              “Well, praise every god under the sun,” came Dandelion’s voice out of the bushy beard. “It’s about damn time you showed up.  Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for you?”</p><p> </p><p>              “It’s a long ride from Toussaint, Buttercup,” the witcher growled in response as he quickly scanned the room for danger. Not seeing any, he sheathed his sword.</p><p> </p><p>              At that point, the bard removed his disguise - tossing the fake beard, the glasses, and hat on a nearby table.</p><p> </p><p>              “Dandelion, what the hell is going on?”</p><p> </p><p>              “I’m in trouble, Geralt. Serious trouble.”</p><p> </p><p>              The bard sat down at the table and poured himself a stiff drink.  Geralt could see several empty bottles of alcohol scattered about - not only on the table top but on the floor below, as well. The witcher didn’t think that he’d ever seen his friend look so disconsolate before.  Heck, he’d seen the bard face the gallows with more spirit and verve.  After a moment, he took a seat across from his friend.</p><p> </p><p>              “Alright. Then tell me.”</p><p> </p><p>              Dandelion made eye-contact, but he quickly looked back down into his mug and shook his head.</p><p> </p><p>              “I – I can’t, Geralt. It’s too…It’s just too awful.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Dandelion, I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve had to pull your bacon out of the fire. You’ve never had a problem dragging me into your troubles before. So, why stop now? It can’t be that bad.”</p><p> </p><p>“‘<em>It can’t be that bad</em>,’ he says. Ha!  How bad would it be for a witcher to lose his swords?  Or a sorceress to lose her ability to use magic?  Huh? Just how bad?”</p><p> </p><p>“Did something happen to your lute? Just buy another one.”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s not my lute, damn it. It’s my schlong.”</p><p> </p><p>“What?” The witcher was sure he’d misheard.</p><p> </p><p>“My johnson! My tickler! My dragon-slayer! My one-eyed willie! My -”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, yeah,” interrupted Geralt. “I know what a schlong is. Look, man, if you caught a case of the zerp, then you need a healer. Not a witcher.”</p><p> </p><p>This time it was Dandelion who rolled his eyes.</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t you think I know how to deal with the zerp?  Only you can help me with this.”</p><p> </p><p>“So, this doesn’t have anything to do with Dijkstra or Cleaver?</p><p> </p><p>“What? No. Who told you that?”</p><p> </p><p>“Your friends, that’s who. You know – Priscilla, Zoltan, Dudu.  Remember them? Your fiancée and friends that are worried about you and don’t know what the hell is going on.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, well, I’m sorry about that, but there are some secrets you take to the grave with you, and this is one of them.”</p><p> </p><p>“Then, why tell me?”</p><p> </p><p>“Because you’re the only one that can help me. At least, the only person who can help me that I actually trust.”</p><p> </p><p>The witcher let out a sigh.</p><p> </p><p>“Alright. Fine. Tell me what the problem is.”</p><p> </p><p>“I, uh, I think it would be easier if I just showed you.”</p><p> </p><p>“Ah, for love of Pete. Really? I gotta look at it?”</p><p> </p><p>Dandelion just nodded his head and then stood.  Not wanting to be eye-level with whatever he was about to see, the witcher quickly stood as well. The bard then dropped his trousers down to his knees.</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt glanced down but didn’t immediately say anything. He cocked his head slightly to one side as he continued to stare at the sight before him. His mouth twitched for the briefest of moments, but that was the only change in his countenance. Eventually, he lifted his eyes to Dandelion’s.</p><p> </p><p>              “So, what exactly is the problem?”</p><p> </p><p>              “What’s the problem?!?” exclaimed Dandelion.  “Are you bloody blind?!?  I’ve got a flower where -” But he immediately stopped yelling, glanced at the door, and lowered his voice into a whisper. “I’ve got a <em>flower</em> where my <em>cock</em> should be. <em>That’s</em> the problem.”</p><p> </p><p>              And for one of the few times in his life, the bard wasn’t lying, embellishing, embracing hyperbole, or utilizing artistic license.  His genitalia had, indeed, been turned into a large, upright, bright-yellow dandelion flower.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>              “You know,” said the witcher, “it could be worse.”</p><p> </p><p>              Dandelion just stared at the man. He didn’t say a word.</p><p> </p><p>              “Really?” he finally said through clenched jaws.  “And just tell me, Butcher, how exactly could it be worse?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Well, it could be limp and little instead of big and upright. So, you got that going for you, which is nice.”</p><p> </p><p>              Dandelion immediately pulled up his trousers, covering himself.</p><p> </p><p>              “I cannot <em>believe</em> that you’re not taking this seriously. I’ve clearly been cursed. I need your help – not jokes.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Come on, Dandelion. Look at this from my point of view. It’s pretty damn funny. And ironic. You gotta admit.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Perhaps, I will see the humor in it afterwards – though I highly doubt it. But, for now, I would simply like you to fix this for me. May I remind you that I have a wedding coming up.  How am I supposed to consummate the marriage with – with this?”</p><p> </p><p>              “A man who’s so renowned for his skill in lovemaking, like yourself?  I’m sure you’ll have no troubles. Who knows? You might even be able to plant your seed.”</p><p> </p><p>              The witcher smirked, but Dandelion didn’t respond. He just glared at Geralt. Eventually, the witcher broke the silence.</p><p> </p><p>              “Fine. You want me to get serious? Okay. This -” he said, pointing at Dandelion’s crotch, “- didn’t just happen by accident, did it? Let me guess – you’ve been screwing around on Priscilla, haven’t you?”</p><p> </p><p>              Suddenly, the bard’s countenance changed.</p><p> </p><p>              “Not technically.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Not technically?” said Geralt, with contempt in his voice.  “This isn’t a curse, then. It’s karma.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Oh, please! You’re the last person who should be moralizing. How many times did you screw around on Yennefer?”</p><p> </p><p>              “A lot. Our relationship was also a <em>disaster</em> - from pretty much the very beginning.  Is that what you’re saying you want with Priscilla – what I had with Yen? Because if so, then just keep screwing around on her.”</p><p> </p><p>              The two men stared hard at one another for several moments before Dandelion finally sighed, his anger evaporating.</p><p> </p><p>              “No, that’s not what I want.  At all.  And I don’t blame you for screwing around on Yennefer. She’s a harpy. Will you let me at least explain what happened?”</p><p> </p><p>               Geralt nodded, and the two of them sat back down at the table. Dandelion poured them both a tall drink.</p><p> </p><p>              “Look, I’m not going to lie. I may have had one or two – okay, a <em>few</em> dalliances in my lifetime.  But I always did it for the good of the relationship.”</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt laughed. “This ought to be good. Okay, tell me, O’ Wise One, just how was stepping out on your girlfriends good for the relationships.”</p><p> </p><p>“Simple,” said the bard with a smile. “My philosophy has always been – if I don’t care enough about the woman to not sniff around, then obviously the relationship isn’t that strong to begin with and I should move on, anyway. It’s better to end the relationship early – even if it’s painful - than to string the poor girls along. That’s only the kind and respectful thing to do.”</p><p> </p><p>The witcher just shook his head. “You’re all heart.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, well, the bottom line is - I didn’t step out on Priscilla. She actually called it quits with me.”</p><p> </p><p>              “You’re kidding?” Geralt was completely shocked by that revelation. “When?”</p><p> </p><p>              “About three months back.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Wait. I’m confused.  Three months ago, you split up and now you’re getting married? What the hell happened?”</p><p> </p><p>              “If you’d shut up already, I’d tell you.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Fine, fine.”</p><p> </p><p>              “A few months ago, things were perfect between us.  We couldn’t have been happier.  Well, I couldn’t have been happier. I was living with the love of my life. The business was going well.  Things were great…I thought.  And, then, out of the blue, she changes.  Starts bringing up the idea of marriage. Constantly nagging me about it.”</p><p> </p><p>              “And let me guess – you told her, ‘Why buy the cow when I have the milk for free?’ Right?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Please! I am a master of the seven liberal arts! Do you actually think I’d use such a plebeian turn-of-phrase?”</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt raised his hands, “Forgive me.”</p><p> </p><p>              “You’re forgiven. So, no, what I said was -” and Dandelion paused to raise his eyes to the ceiling and bring his hand to his heart “- that a love as pure and wondrous as ours was like a majestic eagle, soaring in freedom above the clouds. And that to put a common label on it – like <em>marriage</em> – was to clip its wings. To <em>shackle</em> it in chains. To<em> imprison</em> it in a rusted cage. Did she <em>really</em> want to imprison our love?”</p><p> </p><p>              The witcher just rolled his eyes. “Yeah, that was<em> much</em> better than what I said. Despite your eloquence and erudition, I’m guessing she still didn’t take it well.”</p><p> </p><p>              Dandelion shook his head.</p><p> </p><p>              “Shocking.”</p><p> </p><p>              “It didn’t matter <em>what</em> I said. She wouldn’t stop with the marriage talk. And the more she brought it up, the more I pushed back. The more I didn’t like the idea. Eventually, one night, things blew up between us.  She said that if I wasn’t willing to marry her, then, obviously, I didn’t truly love her and we were wasting our time. Told me she was through with me.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Ouch.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Tell me about it.  So, even though, technically, the Chameleon is mine, I followed her wishes and left.  I ended up at the Kingfisher that night. Got completely hammered and woke up the next morning with a red-headed bar-wench named Tiffani.”</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt suddenly hissed through clenched teeth, like he’d just been stung by a wasp.</p><p> </p><p>“You didn’t.”</p><p> </p><p>              Dandelion nodded. “It’s worse than you think.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Don’t tell me,” said Geralt, “She spells it with an ‘i’ on the end?”</p><p> </p><p>              Dandelion nodded.</p><p> </p><p>              “Oh, man. That’s not good.”</p><p> </p><p>              “You’re telling me. I know that now, but at the time, she was great.  Just what I needed. She was fun with no expectations.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Hell, Dandelion. You’re closing in on fifty, man.  You know better than that.  A woman with no expectations? That’s like…finding a unicorn.  They <em>all</em> have expectations.”</p><p> </p><p>              “I know, I know. Anyway, I stayed with her for about a week, but deep down, I was miserable.  I realized that I truly did love Priscilla.  So much so that I was willing to marry her.  So, I bid Tiffani adieu and went back home.  Asked Priscilla to marry me, and she said yes.  So, in the end, I always considered the break-up to be a good thing.  It made me realize exactly what I had to lose.”  At that point, Dandelion raised his finger in the air. “But, technically, I didn’t cheat on Priscilla.  She and I weren’t a couple at the time.”</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt nodded.  “Alright.  Fair enough. That’s technically true. Though, I doubt Priscilla - or any other woman on the planet - would view it that way.”</p><p> </p><p>              “No doubt. And that’s why I never told her.”</p><p> </p><p>              “So, when did your troubles, uh, sprout up?”</p><p> </p><p>              “I first started noticing some changes about six weeks ago.  At first, I was in denial. But, eventually, things started getting worse and worse. To the point that, last week, I couldn’t deny what was plain to see.”</p><p> </p><p>              “How did Priscilla not find out during that time?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Well, I had to stop having sex with her, obviously.  Of course, that caused her to become suspicious.  I made up one excuse after another. That I hurt my back lifting some boxes in the storage room, things like that. Eventually, though, she accused me of having an affair. Said if I wasn’t getting sex from her, then I had to be getting it from somewhere else. Which was quite hurtful, I must say. I mean, how dare she accuse me of such a thing!”</p><p> </p><p>              “Well, to be fair, that’s not a <em>completely</em> irrational deduction on her part. So, I’m assuming you think Miss Tiffani is behind your predicament.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Definitely.  Who else could it be?  Believe it or not, I’ve been faithful to Priscilla all this time. So, it can’t be anyone else.” </p><p> </p><p>              “I don’t know, Dandelion. I’ve met some of your ex’s. You have a real gift for pissing women off. I’m betting a few could carry a grudge for years.”</p><p> </p><p>              Dandelion shrugged. “Hey, it’s to be expected. I’m a passionate guy. Is it my fault if I bring out strong emotions in my women?”</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt rolled his eyes. “Whatever. You’re probably right, though. Tiffani is the most likely culprit.  How did she take it when you told her that you were going back to Priscilla?”          </p><p> </p><p>              “Whew – not well.  Said that I would regret it. That no one treated her that way and would get away with it.  That I would rue the day. Yadda, yadda.  I honestly didn’t pay much attention at the time. But now?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Did you go and confront her about it?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Sort of.  I had to be subtle, because if she wasn’t responsible, I didn’t want to reveal to her…you know.  So, I went to her place and knocked on her door. When she answered, I said, ‘I know it was you. What can I do to get you to cure it?’”</p><p> </p><p>              “And?”</p><p> </p><p>              “She just glanced down at my crotch and gave me the evilest smile. Said, ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ Then, she slammed the door in my face.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Definitely sounds like she knows about it. You were with her for a week. Do you think she’s a witch, or did she hire it out?”</p><p> </p><p>              At that point, Dandelion leaned back in his chair and exhaled long and slow. To the witcher’s eyes, the man looked completely beaten down.</p><p> </p><p>              “I honestly don’t know, Geralt. I didn’t see anything suspicious while I was there. But I was also drinking heavily during that time. And, anyway, I’m a poet. I run a cabaret.  What do I know about sorceresses and witchcraft and curses? That’s your area of expertise.”</p><p> </p><p>              He took another drink and asked, “So, can you help me?  Do you think you can break the curse?”</p><p> </p><p>              “I don’t know. As you can probably imagine, I’ve never actually dealt with a curse <em>exactly</em> like yours before. I could probably come up with some kind of ritual, but…”</p><p>             </p><p>              “But what?”</p><p> </p><p>              “There could be consequences. There almost always are.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Like what?”</p><p> </p><p>              “I don’t know, exactly. Curses are very tricky.”</p><p> </p><p>              “So, are you saying I could die?” asked Dandelion, and then his eyes went wide. “Or, worse, become impotent?”</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt shrugged his shoulders. “That’s why it’s always best – and safest – if I can go to the source.  If I can go to the person responsible and have them cancel it.”</p><p> </p><p>              “So, you’re going to visit Tiffani?”</p><p> </p><p>              The witcher nodded and asked, “Where does she live?”</p><p> </p><p>              Dandelion gave him the particulars, including the address of a building in The Bits – a run-down district in Novigrad - and then Geralt stood up from the table.</p><p> </p><p>              “So, what should I do while you’re dealing with her?”</p><p> </p><p>               The witcher looked down at his friend. “You’re a grown man, Dandelion. You can do what you want, but…if you want my advice, then sober up and go home.  Come clean with Priscilla – about everything. I mean, you <em>are</em> about to marry the woman.”</p><p> </p><p>              Upon hearing that, Dandelion lowered his head.</p><p> </p><p>              “Yennefer and I never worked because we <em>always</em> held back from one another.  Always had a guard up around our hearts.  I think, deep down, we both believed that the other would always leave in the end. It’s why she was always trying to invade my mind. She didn’t trust me.” Geralt shook his head. “Which just pissed me off and made me not want to tell her anything.  But a lack of trust - holding back and keeping secrets…that’ll destroy your relationship, Dandelion.”</p><p> </p><p>              The bard nodded his head but still didn’t look up. He then let out a mirthless laugh.</p><p> </p><p>              “I really am in a mess of trouble,” he said as he brought his eyes up to meet his friend’s. “If I’m even<em> considering</em> your relationship advice.”</p><p> </p><p>              The witcher gave him a nod and a smile.  “Indeed.”</p><p> </p><p>“Thanks, Geralt – for doing this. You’re a pal.”</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt nodded again. “I’ll let you know as soon as I’ve got any news. If you’re not at the Chameleon, then I’ll come here.”</p><p>             </p><p>              Dandelion walked Geralt to the door and locked it behind him, and as soon as the witcher stepped out into the hallway, he knew he was in trouble.  To his left were three unpleasant-looking scoundrels. All armed with clubs or axe-handles and glaring at him. To his right – towards the stairwell – were four more, including the innkeeper.</p><p> </p><p>              “Think you can just waltz into my tavern and do as you like?” snarled the innkeep, as he tapped the end of a Billy club in his open palm. “You’re about to learn what happens to trouble-makers around here.”</p><p> </p><p>              In less than a second, the witcher took in his surroundings and made a decision.  He had no doubt that, with his Signs and swords, he could slice through the seven ruffians like a hot knife through butter.  But the last thing he wanted to do at the moment was kill.  He hadn’t drawn his sword against anyone in almost two years, and frankly, he didn’t miss it.  Plus, he knew there would be trouble afterwards.  The city-guards or the sheriff would arrive; there’d be an inquest; and he might get thrown into a jail cell and miss the wedding.  </p><p> </p><p>              He glanced again towards his left – towards the three – gave himself a quick nod of his head, and immediately began sprinting in their direction.  Halfway there, he shot his left hand forward, letting loose with a powerful Aard Sign.  The telekinetic force blasted the three off their feet, and the witcher – without missing a beat – leapt in the air over all three.  He could hear shouting and cursing coming from behind him, but he didn’t bother to turn around.  His focus was right in front of him – on a window at the end of the hallway.  He didn’t know exactly what was below, but it didn’t matter. A leap from the second story was child’s play for him.  A second later, the witcher cast another Aard, blowing out the window, and then he jumped through the opening. As he was sailing through the air, he cast a Quen Sign.  It was then that he looked down to see where he was headed.  He only had one thought.</p><p>             </p><p>              “Ah, shit.”</p><p> </p><p>              An hour later, the witcher stepped into the Chameleon.  Within five seconds, it seemed as if the entire cabaret had come to a stand-still. Even the band on the stage had stopped playing.  Suddenly, Geralt heard a deep, booming, and familiar laugh coming his way. </p><p> </p><p>              “Just what in the hell have you been crawling around in?” asked Zoltan. For Geralt was covered from head to toe in mud and muck.  “Whew!” exclaimed the dwarf as he got closer, waving his hand back and forth in front of his face. “You smell like the devil’s taint.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Pigsty,” was all Geralt said in response.</p><p> </p><p>              Zoltan smiled widely and then yelled over his shoulder, “ViLula! </p><p> </p><p>              Suddenly, a cute chambermaid appeared, also wearing a wide smile.</p><p> </p><p>              “Yes, Zoltan?”</p><p> </p><p>“Be a dear, and draw a bath for Master Geralt.”</p><p> </p><p>              She looked Geralt up and down and laughed.  “Come with me, please.”</p><p> </p><p>oOo</p><p> </p><p>              “I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” said Vivienne as she stood on a balcony, looking out over the courtyard of the luxurious Royal Ambassador. The hotel was located on Chancellor’s Square in the new Political District, east of the city.</p><p> </p><p>              Marissa sat on the balcony railing, kicking her legs back and forth. Despite the cool, fall evening, she sported a sheen of sweat on her skin from dancing.  Faint notes of music could be heard coming through the partially open doors behind them.</p><p> </p><p>              “Because you knew it would be more fun than sitting all alone in some dark, lonely, room,” she said after a laugh.  She then took a long drink a wine.  “I just don’t understand why you don’t think this is the best. The Royal Ambassador ballroom. Beautiful music. Fantastic wine. Dancing with handsome, rich, virile men. What’s not to love?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Perhaps, because you’ve only been doing it for six months, dear cousin, instead of two years.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Pshaw,” snorted the younger woman. “Six months, two years – it wouldn’t matter. I’d never tire of this.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Well, I guess that’s where we’re different, then,” Vivienne said after a sigh. “I’ve come to realize that there <em>must</em> to be more to life than high-society soirées, late-night parties, and masquerade balls. It’s all become so…empty…and tedious.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Even with men like Count Dufrene?”</p><p> </p><p>              “<em>Especially</em> with men like him.”</p><p> </p><p>              Marissa took another drink of wine and peered intently at her cousin.</p><p> </p><p>              “You know, Vivienne, if you’re a lesbian, it’s okay. You can tell me. I honestly, wouldn’t care.”</p><p> </p><p>              She rolled her eyes before turning to face Marissa.</p><p> </p><p>              “Well, thank you, but I am not.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Are you sure? Because in the last half-year, I’ve seen one gorgeous man after another pursue you. None with success.”</p><p> </p><p>              “All those men just wanted one thing.”</p><p> </p><p>              “I know,” said Marissa with a laugh. “And isn’t it so wonderfully fun!”</p><p> </p><p>              Vivienne couldn’t help but smile at her cousin’s joie de vivre.</p><p> </p><p>              “I’m glad that you’re enjoying yourself. But I think I’m going to call it a night.”</p><p> </p><p>              Suddenly, Marissa’s smile left her face.</p><p> </p><p>              “You, uh, you wouldn’t be upset if I stayed, would you?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Of course not. Give Count Dufrene my regards.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Oh, I hope to give him more than that,” she said with a laugh. “Don’t wait up, Viv.”</p><p> </p><p>              “I never do.”</p><p> </p><p>              A few moments later, she walked down the steps of the Royal Ambassador Hotel and into a hansom cab.  After telling the driver the name of the inn where she’d rented a room earlier in the evening, she sat back and thought more about the just-finished conversation with Marissa.</p><p>              Vivienne wasn’t sure if her cousin’s inquiry into her sexuality had been in jest or not, but, honestly, she couldn’t blame the girl if she’d been serious about it.  For the truth was that Vivienne, indeed, had rejected every romantic overture that had come her way in the last six months.  That hadn’t always been the case, though.  Almost two years ago – at the start of her adventure – she’d allowed several men to romance her as she traveled throughout the southern part of the Continent. In the beginning, after being liberated from her curse, every moment had been intoxicating.  Tastes were sweeter; music was richer; kisses were more sensuous. The freedom had been overwhelming, and she’d let herself get swept away by the excitement and anticipation.</p><p> </p><p>              But somewhere along the journey, her feelings had started to change.  She couldn’t pinpoint exactly when or where or even why, but she couldn’t deny that what had once excited and fulfilled her, no longer did. She had hoped that by bringing her cousin into the mix she would once again find that spark of joy.  But it hadn’t worked.  While she certainly enjoyed Marissa’s company and youthful exuberance, she still felt a bit hollow inside.  For the past few months, she seemed to be asking herself the same question. <em>Is this all there is to life? </em></p><p>
  
</p><p>              But she didn’t know what else to do.  Because the moment that she stopped traveling, then permanence would come into her life.  And that thought terrified her. She had to stay on the move, for as long as she was constantly running to the next locale, then she could keep everyone at arms-length.  At least, emotionally if not physically.  And that was vitally important to Vivienne, because who could ever truly love someone like her.  Sure, men were drawn to her looks, but what would happen if they ever found out her secret.</p><p> </p><p>              Her secret – her curse – still haunted her two years later. Not literally, but in her mind and soul.  In all those years of growing up with the curse, she had kept everyone at a distance, and she’d done it so well and for so long that it had become second-nature to her. A nature she just couldn’t break.  She’d still told no one – not even Marissa – of her past.  In fact, she could count on one hand the number of people who were fully aware of the details – her parents, Guillaume, and the witcher.  That was it.</p><p> </p><p>              But it wasn’t just fear of rejection that kept Vivienne running.  There were so many other matters that complicated her life.  Deep down, she knew that she wanted true intimacy.  To be loved completely and unconditionally. But, even if she could find a man that she could trust enough with whom to share the truth about her past, how could she actually start a family with him?  What if, somehow, her curse was passed onto their children?  She would never forgive herself if that happened.  More so, it was possible that she only had five more years to live.  Could she actually bring children into the world knowing that she wouldn’t be there to raise them? She shook her head resolutely at that thought.  How unfair to them – and selfish of her – would that be? No, she would never do it, she told herself for the hundredth time.  With that thought, Vivienne stared up at the full moon and sighed, resigning herself, once again, to her fate.  She would stay alone. Life was just simpler and safer that way. </p><p> </p><p>              It wasn’t much later that the hansom cab stopped in front of an inn.  After paying the driver, she approached the front door, and her eyes caught the name of the inn above the door – “The Chameleon.”  She gave a slight, sad smile at the irony before stepping through the entrance.</p><p> </p><p>oOo</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt had left the Kingfisher Inn a half hour earlier, and he was now standing in a narrow alley with a couple of homeless drunks passed out behind him. He was hidden in the shadows between two houses in The Bits with a clear view of the building where Tiffani lived. He’d made some very discreet inquiries at the inn to discover that she was on shift that night.  He’d even been able to get a good look at her from across the tavern.  He’d thought that she’d definitely possessed a glint of ‘bat-shit crazy’ in her eyes.  Though, he’d freely admit that his opinion of her was now quite biased given what he thought he knew of the woman. That said, her loud, maniacal laugh that he’d heard echoing across the room at one point had only served to solidify his opinion of the bar-wench.  Regardless of all that, though, the most important factor was that he figured she’d be working until closing, which would give him at least a couple of hours to search her home for clues. He thought it unlikely, but he wanted to know if she was the one who’d actually cast the curse on Dandelion.  If so, then he figured he’d find evidence in her abode.</p><p> </p><p>              The witcher looked up to the third floor of the building, and seeing that all the windows were dark, he stepped out of the alleyway and into the light of the full moon. He walked across the road to the front door of the building and entered – as if he actually belonged there.  Inside, there was a single lantern that dimly lit the small entryway.  He noticed doors to both his left and right and a stairway towards the back of the foyer. He moved quietly up the stairs, saw that there were two more doors – marked with numbers three and four – on the second floor, and then continued upward.  On the third floor, he paused outside of door number six and listened for a long while.  Finally, he slowly turned the knob, but not surprisingly, it was locked.  He peeked over his shoulder across the hallway to the door marked five, and then, with both his knees bent, he pressed his shoulder flat against the door.  The wood of the door and frame looked old and weak so he didn’t figure he’d have much trouble with it.  With his superhuman strength, he exploded forward with his legs, and the door cracked open near the knob. </p><p> </p><p>He quickly stepped inside and shut the door behind him the best that he could. And that was when he heard the most annoying, high-pitched barking filling the room. About five feet away, in the middle of Tiffani’s main living area, was a little beast that looked like it was more rat than dog. Each of its ears were almost as big as its head, and its entire body seemed to be shaking uncontrollably, like it was having some kind of seizure.  It was baring its little, rat-like teeth in the witcher’s direction, and it was yapping incessantly.</p><p> </p><p>“Damn it,” the witcher cursed under his breath. <em>‘Why didn’t Dandelion warn me she had a demon-dog?  </em>The little rat was going to wake up the entire building.  </p><p> </p><p>The light of the full moon shone through the windows slightly illuminating the barmaid’s home, but even without the light, he would have been able to see the little monster just fine due to his cat-like eyes. He immediately rushed at the dog – expecting it to try to escape.  However, as he bent down to grab it, instead of darting away, it snapped at him.  He quickly pulled his hand back while at the same time snatching the mutt’s scruff with his other hand, which just made it go even more berserk.  Its barking got louder, and it wouldn’t stop trying to bite and scratch him – its front and back paws clawing the air between them. The witcher raised up the canine so that it was eye-level with him.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not going to hurt you, you ugly, little rat,” he whispered in his most soothing tone.</p><p> </p><p>At that point, the demon-dog pissed all over the front of his jacket and trousers.</p><p> </p><p>“Damn it!” he cursed, aiming the stream of urine away from him.  When he looked up, his eyes fell on a wardrobe on the other side of the room. He moved toward it with haste, opened the doors, and, while still holding the yapping dog in one hand, began a thorough search through the items on the top shelf and then through the clothes hanging from a rod.  He didn’t find anything damning, nor did his medallion twitch, so he tossed the dog inside and quickly shut the wardrobe doors before it could escape.  </p><p> </p><p>              Being inside the wardrobe didn’t discourage the little demon-dog in the least. Geralt could hear its rat-claws scratching non-stop against the door, and it’s incessant yapping continued.  Though, it was slightly muted, he thought thankfully to himself.  He immediately went back to the front door and did his best to listen to the goings-on out in the hallway, but it was virtually impossible to hear anything over the canine’s noise.  So, he slowly opened the door and poked his head out.  He exhaled in relief at seeing no one coming to investigate.  The witcher was betting that the little mutt was rarely quiet and that the neighbors were probably used to its constant barking so he shut the busted door the best he could and started his search.</p><p> </p><p>              The witcher headed to the first room on his left, which was a kitchen and dining area.  He was looking for anything that might have even a hint of magical properties. So, as he searched through the cabinets and shelves, he made sure to pay attention to his medallion. But it never vibrated. It appeared that he was in an ordinary kitchen. Tiffani had no special herbs, roots, or elixirs that indicated she might be dabbling in the arcana.  There were just the typical food-stuffs lying about, like a large bag of corn meal and another bag of flour. </p><p> </p><p>              He headed back into the main living area and continued his search there.  For the next ten minutes, he looked in drawers, under furniture, on shelves, around plants, and behind prints on the walls for any evidence that Tiffani was a sorceress.  But he found nothing.  No shrine, no talisman, no doll dressed like the bard stuck with pins, and no pentagram created out of dandelion flowers. At that point, he was sure of two things.  The barmaid must have hired a witch to cast the curse, and her dog truly was demonic.  For it was still clawing at the door of the wardrobe and yapping in its high-pitched, never-ending bark.  In the last fifteen minutes, it hadn’t stopped to even take a breath. </p><p> </p><p>              “Little monster must have nekker blood in it,” he said under his breath right before he heard the floor creak behind him.  He turned just in time to see a potted plant come down on his head. The pot shattered, both stunning him and covering him in dirt.  Stars filled his vision so he immediately brought both arms up to protect his face, and a moment later, he was punched in the gut, which completely knocked the wind out of him.  In desperation, he lunged at his enemy and was able to grab ahold of his arms with both hands.  His brain was still foggy, but even so, he could tell his combatant was a big and powerful man. The two of them struggled back and forth – his enemy trying to find an advantage while the witcher was just trying to hang on until his senses came back to him.  He heard his opponent grunt with effort, and both of them went crashing into a wall, knocking knick-knacks and a vase full of flowers off of a shelf.  They wrestled their way across the living room floor before next crashing into the wardrobe, its doors splintering into pieces.  Geralt was able to find his footing first and pushed forward with all his might, causing the two men to move back across the main room and into the kitchen area. The big man suddenly pulled an arm free and took a swing at Geralt.  The witcher ducked, and when he came back up, he head-butted his opponent right under the chin.  Geralt heard the man grunt in pain and could feel his muscles slack for just a moment.  He immediately pressed the advantage, lifted the man into the air in a bear-hug, and then slammed him down on the nearby table. The bags of cornmeal and flour exploded, their contents filling the small room and covering both men.  His opponent was moaning in pain and not moving, but Geralt decided to give him a couple of sharp, right crosses to the jaw just to make sure he stayed down.</p><p> </p><p>              It was about that time that he heard voices out in the hallway.</p><p> </p><p>              “You all knock it off in there!” he heard a male voice yell out. “You’re disturbin’ my sleep! Don’t make me get the landlord!”</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt quickly made his way to front door to see a man peaking his head into the room, holding a single, lit candle in front of him. The witcher instantly raised the hood of his cloak over his head to cover his face and hair and headed directly toward the nosy neighbor. The neighbor, seeing a figure covered in white approaching fast, yelled out in terror, but only a second before Geralt extinguished the candle’s flame and shrouded the room back into darkness. He pushed past the neighbor and sprinted down the stairs as fast as his groggy head would allow, with the rat-dog’s yapping echoing behind him the entire way.</p><p> </p><p>              A half-hour later, the witcher stumbled into the Chameleon.  It was near closing time by then so the band had already packed up and there were only a few, final desperate drinkers hanging on until last call, but Zoltan was still on duty.  The dwarf laughed out loud upon seeing the witcher walk through the door.  For he was covered in potted soil, flour, and dog piss.  But Zoltan suddenly stopped laughing when he saw the trail of blood on the side of Geralt’s face. </p><p> </p><p>              “This got to do with Dandelion?”</p><p> </p><p>              The witcher gave a nod.</p><p> </p><p>              “Must have fought a whole passel of buggers for you to look like this.”</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt shook his head. “Just one. Well, one and a little rat-dog.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Then, shite, Geralt…and I hate to say it - but you must be losing a step.”</p><p> </p><p>              The witcher nodded. “What do you expect? I’m out of practice.” He touched the side of his head, causing him to wince.  “Haven’t you heard? I’m a landed gentleman now. Living a life of leisure.”</p><p> </p><p>              “ViLula?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Yes, boss?”<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>              “Draw another bath for the landed gentleman, if you’d be so kind.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Will do. Follow me, Mister landed gentleman.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>              Sweat was pouring from Geralt’s face as he frantically ran through his vineyard.  Black smoke filled the air, and flames danced over the grapevines. </p><p> </p><p>              “No! Stop!” he yelled as he chased a naked Tiffani up and down the rows. But no matter how fast he ran, he could gain no ground.  It was like he was running under water. And she paid him no heed, instead cackling wildly as fire burst forth from her hands engulfing the vines nearest to her.  To make matters worse, she wasn’t the only agent of destruction prowling around his estate. Ten-foot tall dandelion flowers were also hopping around, setting fire to everything in their path.  Strangely, they, too, seemed to be laughing maniacally – with a chortle that sounded just like Dandelion’s.</p><p> </p><p>              “Come on up to Novigrad, friend,” he heard them say, “We’ll have a great time! Ha ha ha!”</p><p> </p><p>                Out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement near his ankle, and he looked down to see the little demon dog.  The rat-mutt was growling and had its jaws clamped onto a strap of Geralt’s boot - vigorously shaking its head back and forth. Eventually, the witcher stopped running, for he saw that it was too late. All of his crops were being consumed by an inferno. He slowly turned in a circle, seeing destruction all around him. </p><p> </p><p>              He was shaking his head and saying “No, no,” over and over when he heard a loud pounding noise off in the distance.  He kept crying out as the banging got louder and louder until, finally, with a gasp he rose up in his bed. The sheets were soaked with sweat and twisted around his legs, and someone was knocking loudly on the door of his room. He glanced at the window to see that it was barely dawn. The sky was lighter outside, but the sun hadn’t yet fully risen.</p><p> </p><p>              “Alright, alright!” he yelled out when the knocking wouldn’t stop. “I’m coming.”</p><p> </p><p>              He opened the door to find Priscilla waiting on him. She was holding a bundle of clothes in front of her, and she suddenly went wide-eyed. She quickly glanced at the witcher’s near-naked body, swallowed hard, and then very intently stared him in the eyes.</p><p> </p><p>              “Sorry,” he said, after glancing down and realizing that he was in nothing but his underpants. “All my clothes are being laundered.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Well, then, it’s a good thing I brought these,” she stated, handing Geralt the bundle of clothes.</p><p> </p><p>              That’s when he saw the look on her face.</p><p> </p><p>              “You okay?” he asked. “You don’t look so well.”</p><p> </p><p>              “No, no, I’m fine. I’m just feeling a little sick to my stomach this morning.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Alright.”</p><p> </p><p>              Then Geralt looked down at the clothes in his hands.</p><p> </p><p>              “Ah, you’ve gotta be kidding me,” he said with a sigh. “Think I’m starting to feel a little nauseous, too.”</p><p> </p><p>              About ten minutes later, Geralt sat on the edge of his bed with Priscilla sitting in a chair in front of him. She was brushing a brown, ink-like dye into what was left of his facial hair. He’d shaved his cheeks and chin, with only his mustache and a soul-patch under his bottom lip remaining.</p><p> </p><p>              “Is this really necessary?” he asked.</p><p> </p><p>              “Yes. Brother Rasmun is old and has vision problems, but he isn’t completely blind. He’d definitely be able to notice the difference between white and brown facial hair.”</p><p> </p><p>              “But you said that he’d never met Dandelion before.”</p><p> </p><p>              “True, but he’s going to meet him at the wedding.”<br/><br/></p><p>              “Look, if you need someone who looks like Dandelion, then let’s just ask Dudu.  He’s a doppler, for crying out loud.”</p><p> </p><p>              Priscilla stopped applying the dye and looked down for a moment.</p><p> </p><p>              “I…” then she sighed. “I don’t want anyone else to know that Dandelion is missing. Only you and Zoltan know. I’m already embarrassed enough, as is.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Embarrassed? About what?”</p><p> </p><p>              She slowly brought her eyes up to meet his, and he could see that they were moist with tears.</p><p> </p><p>              “I think…I think Dandelion has run off…because he doesn’t want to get married. I think he may be even having an affair.”</p><p>             </p><p>              Geralt cursed inwardly for he <em>really</em> didn’t want to get in the middle of Dandelion and Priscilla’s relationship.          What went on between them was none of his business, nor did he want it to be.  While he liked the trobairitz, the fact of the matter was that Dandelion was his friend. Not her. So, he wanted to say something that would put her mind at ease, but he couldn’t think of anything that wouldn’t somehow betray Dandelion’s trust. It had already been awkward earlier at the door when she’d asked him if he’d made any progress in finding the bard. He’d refused to lie to her, but he knew he couldn’t come completely clean with her either. So, he’d simply said that he hoped that Dandelion would return any moment now. Which actually was the truth. </p><p> </p><p>              He watched a tear fall down her cheek, and then he sighed.  He knew he needed to tell her something.</p><p> </p><p>              “Look,” he started after clearing his throat. “I’ve known Dandelion a lot of years, and I’ve never known him to stay with a woman for as long as he has with you.  That’s got to mean something, right? Plus, I’ve never heard him talk about a woman like he has about you. Back when I was here before – when you were attacked – and it looked like you might die…he acted like a man who was about to lose his whole world.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Really?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Yeah. Honest.  So…” But he didn’t say anything else because he was afraid that whatever he said would be misleading.</p><p> </p><p>              Priscilla nodded her head and smiled.</p><p> </p><p>              “Thank you, Geralt. For everything. For what you did back then.  And for what you’re doing now.  You’re a good friend.”</p><p> </p><p>              With those words, he slightly winced.  Because he didn’t feel like a good friend to her.  A good friend would’ve told her why her fiancé had fled and where he was. </p><p> </p><p>              “Yeah, well…I’m trying to be.  Now, the quicker we get this finished with, the quicker I can continue my search.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Right, right,” she said before applying a bit more dye.</p><p> </p><p>              “So, why exactly do you have brown hair dye anyway?” asked Geralt, hoping to change the subject to something less sticky. “You’re a blonde.”</p><p> </p><p>              She laughed. “It’s not mine. It’s Dandelion’s. He’s getting grey around the temples and in his facial hair.”</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt shook his head. “Why am I not surprised? I’m not sure I’ve ever met a more vain man in my life.”</p><p> </p><p>              Priscilla laughed again. “Yes, well, he claims he dyes his hair, not out of vanity, but out of integrity.”</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt couldn’t help but smile.</p><p> </p><p>              “This ought to be good. Okay, tell me – how exactly is covering up his grey an act of integrity?”</p><p> </p><p>              “He says that, on the inside, he still feels like he’s twenty-five. In the prime of his life.  Therefore, since he still <em>feels</em> young, then he should look young, too.  To appear otherwise, would be dishonest.  At least, that’s his argument.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Yeah, how dare reality interfere with his feelings.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Okay, all done,” said Priscilla, combing in the last touches of dye. “Don’t touch it for a bit.  It’s still wet.”</p><p> </p><p>              “What about the hair on my head? Please tell me I don’t have to dye all of it, too.”</p><p> </p><p>              “No, no,” said Priscilla with a smile. “That’s why I brought this.” She then pulled an item from the pile of clothes next to her.</p><p> </p><p>              A low growl rumbled up from Geralt’s throat when he saw what was in her hand.</p><p> </p><p>              Five minutes later, Priscilla led Geralt down the stairs and into the main room of the cabaret.  It was still early so there were very few occupants breaking their fast.  But Zoltan was already up, and upon seeing the witcher, he let out a rip-roaring laugh.  The two of them crossed the room and approached the dwarf, who was still laughing uncontrollably. He was gasping for breath and even had a tear rolling down his cheek. </p><p> </p><p>              “That’s it! I’m going back upstairs and taking this off. Being covered in pig-shit and dog-piss is one thing, but this? Having to dress like Dandelion? That’s too much.”</p><p> </p><p>              And it was true.  The witcher was, indeed, dressed like the bard.  He wore fine, calf-skin loafers on his feet.  His lower legs were encased in turquoise-blue tights, while he wore puffed-out, bright violet culottes over his thighs.  His white, lacy blouse was covered by a sleeveless, periwinkle and teal doublet that was embroidered with the finest silver stitching, which matched the color of the scarf around his neck. And his milk-white hair was tucked up underneath a silk, mauve-colored beret, capped with an elegant peacock feather. To make matters worse, the shirt and doublet appeared to be a size too small, making the witcher feel like even more of a fool.</p><p> </p><p>              “Please, Geralt, you promised,” pleaded Priscilla before she glared at Zoltan, who was still laughing. “And you, knock it off.  This is important. Tell him he looks great.”</p><p> </p><p>              Eventually, the dwarf stopped chuckling and wiped the tears from his face.</p><p> </p><p>              “Aye. When I saw you walk down the stairs, I thought Dandelion himself had returned.”</p><p> </p><p>              “You’re lying,” growled the witcher. “I look ridiculous.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Aye,” said Zoltan with a nod. “But that’s perfect. It means you look like Dandelion.”</p><p> </p><p>              “There’s no way I’m walking out in public like this.”</p><p> </p><p>              “I thought you’d say as much, so I brought you this,” said Priscilla, wrapping a mink-lined, crushed-velvet, plum-colored cape around Geralt’s shoulders. “It’s got a hood on it so you can cover you head and face.”</p><p> </p><p>              The witcher just sighed. “Swell,” he said, pulling up the hood. “Let’s get this over with.”</p><p> </p><p>              He then walked out of the cabaret with Zoltan’s hysterical laughter trailing behind him.  </p><p> </p><p>“Nay, you need to take down your hood,” the dwarf called out. “You’re gonna crimp your feather!”</p><p> </p><p>oOo</p><p> </p><p>              “Are you well, Dandelion?” asked Brother Rasmun. “Your voice sounds a bit raspy. Can I pour you a cup of tea?”</p><p> </p><p>              The witcher glanced side-eyed at Pricilla before looking back at the small, elderly Lebiodan priest. He was wearing a simple, brown woolen frock, and he seemed ancient – stooped over with thin, wispy, white hair on his head.  He walked with a cane and had very thick glasses perched on his thin nose.</p><p> </p><p>              “Actually, Brother Rasmun, yes, I did wake up with a frog in my throat this morning.  So, a cup of tea sounds, uh, delightful. I don’t normally sound like this at all. In fact, in a few days – at our wedding – I’ll probably sound like a <em>completely</em> different person.”</p><p> </p><p>               “Well, then, cups of tea all around.”</p><p> </p><p>The priest turned to a side table were there was a tea setting on a silver platter.  While his back was turned, Priscilla stared at Geralt.</p><p> </p><p>              “Delightful?” she mouthed. “Tea sounds <em>delightful</em>?”</p><p> </p><p>              “I don’t know,” whispered Geralt with a shrug. “That sounds like something Dandelion would say, right?”</p><p> </p><p>              Before she could respond, Brother Rasmun returned with their cups of tea and then headed to his chair.  The two were sitting on one side of the priest’s desk in his small office while he sat on the other.</p><p> </p><p>              “Now,” he said with a kind smile, “you may be wondering exactly why I wanted to speak with you.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Yes, Brother,” responded Priscilla. “It did cross our mind.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Well, nothing to fear, my dear. It’s just a formality, I’m sure.  I simply like to get to know the loving couple prior to officiating their wedding. To make sure they’re actually compatible, you see. I’d hate to take part in a ceremony if I thought that the marriage was doomed from the start.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Yes, I see,” said Priscilla as she reached over and grasped Geralt’s forearm in a vice-like grip.</p><p> </p><p>              “Again, it’s nothing to fret about. I just have a few questions.”</p><p> </p><p>              He pushed two pieces of parchment across the desk. There was a writing utensil on top of each.</p><p> </p><p>              “I used to ask my questions orally, but I’ve discovered I get much more honest answers if they’re written down.  That way, the one can’t simply parrot the other’s response.”</p><p> </p><p>              Neither Priscilla nor Geralt moved from their seats.</p><p> </p><p>              “Well, go ahead.  It won’t take more than five or ten minutes to complete.”</p><p> </p><p>              The witcher gulped and then looked over at Priscilla, who was staring at him. Terror was plastered across her face. He let out a long, slow breath before hesitantly reaching for the paper.</p><p> </p><p>              For the next ten minutes, Geralt did his best to answer questions like he thought Dandelion would respond.  There were questions on religion and philosophy. Questions about children and where he wanted to live. He was asked his thoughts on money and his future in-laws. He had to write down what his passions and hobbies were.  As he scribbled out his answers, he could feel the sweat soaking through his blouse and into his doublet.  He had to constantly wipe his forehead with his sleeve.  In fact, he was sweating so much that he was sure that the dye in his mustache must be running.  Eventually, he finished, and when he looked up, he noticed that the office was completely silent and that both Priscilla and the priest were staring at him – waiting for him to finish.  He gulped hard again and then handed his parchment to Brother Rasmun.</p><p> </p><p>              At that point, the priest pulled both pieces of paper close to him, grabbed a large magnifying glass from his desk drawer, and began reading through the parchments.</p><p> </p><p>              “Oh, dear,” he whispered at one point under his breath.  This was shortly followed up with a, “Well, that’s not good.”</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt was getting a sinking feeling in his stomach, and when he looked over at Priscilla, he could tell she felt the same. The priest continued comparing their answers, making a “tsk-tsk-tsk” sound every few seconds.  Eventually, he stopped reading and looked up at them through his thick lenses.</p><p> </p><p>              “I am afraid that, in all my years as a priest, I have never met a couple who was less compatible.”</p><p>             </p><p>              “What? That, uh, no…there must be some mistake,” said Geralt with a nervous laugh. “Priscilla and I - we have a lot in common. We both love the arts. Poetry, singing, performing. You know – all that kind of…stuff.”</p><p> </p><p>He’d almost said the word ‘nonsense’ but had luckily caught himself.  </p><p> </p><p>              “Yes, yes, I see that,” the priest answered, patting the parchments in front of him. “But none of those things are essential for a healthy relationship.  A love of poetry will not help you two get through the tough times that every marriage eventually faces.  A strong marriage must be built upon a much sturdier foundation. Why, you two don’t seem to agree on <em>any</em> of the more important aspects of a marriage.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Such as?” asked the witcher.</p><p> </p><p>              “Well, such as,” and at that point Brother Rasmun began searching through their answers. While he was doing that, Geralt looked over at Priscilla. She had her head down, looking at her feet, and she was slightly shaking her head back and forth. “Right here – the question about children. Priscilla answered that she’d like to have at least one child, for as Lebioda says, ‘Children are a blessing from the gods.’ But you, you answered, and I quote, ‘Are you kidding? Kids are nothing but loud, messy, expensive pets.’”</p><p> </p><p>              “Well, that<em> is</em> true.”</p><p> </p><p>              “True or not, if that is your view, then you certainly aren’t a good match with Miss Priscilla here.  How will the marriage last if you can’t agree on the important matters – such as, whether or not you two even <em>want</em> children, much less on how and where to raise them?”  He then shook his head. “No, no. Marriage must be built on a firm foundation. Like the principles found in Lebioda’s teachings. Anything less and it’s doomed to failure.”</p><p> </p><p>              The office was quiet for several long moments. The witcher glanced over at Priscilla, who looked like someone had just stolen her puppy. It didn’t take a genius to realize that the interview was not going well at all, and he knew that he had to do something, even if it meant lying to the priest. Eventually, he turned back to face the old man and smiled.</p><p> </p><p>              “Well, that’s fantastic, Brother,” he said. “Because I am – I mean, we are -” and he nodded his head towards Priscilla “- devout followers of Lebioda.  That’s the sole reason that we want you to officiate our wedding. Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Yes, yes, absolutely.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Is that so?” asked the priest, peering hard at Geralt. “Then, tell me, young man, what is your favorite verse of scripture from the Good Book?”</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt swallowed hard as his smile disappeared. “My, uh, favorite verse?  Well, you know, there are so many, uh, incredible verses…that it would be impossible for me to pick my favorite.  That’d be like asking me to pick my favorite sonnet that I’d composed.” He then laughed nervously. “Right, honey?” </p><p> </p><p>              “Very well. Then, just name one.”</p><p> </p><p>              “One…right. One.”  And suddenly Geralt was racing back through his memory.  For he had, indeed, possessed the Good Book at one point in his life.  He’d even spent a few days reading through it.  But that had been about eighty years ago.  In his mind’s eye, he could still envision that time.  Sitting at a desk in the Dothan palace, flipping through the pages of the Good Book.  He could even remember discussing what he’d read with another Lebiodan priest – though, he no longer remembered that man’s name. And, then, suddenly….</p><p> </p><p>              “Aha!” he yelled out, causing both Priscilla and Brother Rasmun to jump in their seats.  The witcher had his finger pointing straight up in the air, and a smile was spreading across his face.</p><p> </p><p>              “Never pet a burning dog,” he said with a nod of his head.</p><p> </p><p>              Just like before, the office was totally silent for a long pause. And then, the priest smiled and said, “Yes, that is one of Lebioda’s more humorous proverbial truths.”</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt heard Priscilla exhale in relief next to him.</p><p> </p><p>              “Tell me, Dandelion, just what do think Lebioda was trying to teach with that saying?”</p><p> </p><p>              Suddenly, the smile once again vanished from Geralt’s face.</p><p> </p><p>              “Teach?” he asked before bringing his hand up and stroking his chin several times, trying to give himself a few moments to think.  “Well, it’s, uh, you know…there are so many possible interpretations…I mean, how could anyone truly plumb the depths of the Prophet’s vast knowledge…but I think he was trying to say that -” he then stroked his chin a few more times. “I got it,” he finally stated, again raising his finger into the air.  “Lebioda – with that little nugget of wisdom, he was trying to warn us to stay away from sinful temptations that look so attractive.  The mutt, see, it represents the temptations and the lies of the world.  It’s cute and cuddly. We want to embrace it.  We think that, by doing so, we’ll find happiness.  But it’s on fire, see, so, obviously, petting the little demon-dog would be harmful to us.  That’s what he was warning us about.”</p><p> </p><p>              The witcher swallowed hard and involuntarily held his breath, just waiting to hear was Brother Rasmun would say.</p><p> </p><p>              “Very good, Dandelion,” said the priest with a smile. “I, too, would interpret it that way.”</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt exhaled deeply and then turned and peered at Priscilla who was staring directly at him with a look of utter shock on her face.  He simply smirked and nodded his head.</p><p> </p><p>              “Let me ask you one more question, Dandelion,” said Brother Rasmun, bringing Geralt’s focus back to him. “Have you and Priscilla been obeying Lebioda’s sixth creed?”</p><p> </p><p>              “The, uh, <em>sixth</em> creed? I’m sorry, Brother Rasmun. I know all the creeds, of course, but sometimes, I can’t remember exactly what their order is? I hope you can forgive me. Could you remind me exactly which one the sixth creed is again?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Oh, yes, yes. That’s understandable.  The sixth creed – to keep the marriage bed pure until you two are finally wed.”</p><p> </p><p>              A large smile slowly spread across Geralt’s face.</p><p> </p><p>              “Brother Rasmun, I can honestly say that I have never, ever had sex with the woman sitting next to me.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Oh, that’s wonderful. In that case, I can definitely officiate your wedding.  You two may have some differences, but considering you’re both committed to following Lebioda’s teachings, then I’m confident you’ll have a wonderful marriage.  I am so looking forward to Saturday.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Excellent!” exclaimed Geralt, getting to his feet. He reached across the desk and shook the priest’s hand. “Then, we shouldn’t take up any more of your time.”</p><p> </p><p>              He immediately felt Priscilla grab him by the elbow.</p><p> </p><p>              “Let’s get out of here before he changes his mind,” she whispered while leading them towards the door. “Thanks, Brother Rasmun!” she shouted over her shoulder. “See you Saturday!”</p><p>             </p><p>              Out on the steps of the Lebioda temple, the trobairitz shouted in joy and gave Geralt a hug. </p><p> </p><p>              “Unbelievable!” she said, between laughing. “I can’t believe we pulled it off.  I can’t believe you actually know even one verse from the Good Book.”</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt smiled along with her.</p><p> </p><p>              “Me either. It came to me out of nowhere.”</p><p> </p><p>              She gave him another hug and kissed him on the cheek.  “You’re the best, Geralt. It’s no wonder your Dandelion’s best friend.  You always come through in the end. I owe you big-time.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Yeah? Then, let’s head back to the cabaret so I can get out of this ridiculous disguise. I can feel myself getting dumber every minute I have it on.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Deal!”</p><p> </p><p>oOo</p><p> </p><p>              Vivienne sat by herself at one of the tables in the main room of the Chameleon. She was nibbling on her breakfast while planning her day.  Marissa still had not returned from the Royal Ambassador Hotel, and she wasn’t sure when her young cousin would return.  She’d, therefore, resigned herself to spending the day alone. She’d heard that Hierarch Square housed – among other things - a bookstore, a fashion boutique, an art museum, and a play house. She’d decided that she could definitely pass what was left of the morning and most of the afternoon visiting those locales, and she was just getting ready to leave when a shadow passed over her table, causing her to look up.</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t believe it. Lady Vivienne? Vivienne de Tabris?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes,” she answered as she looked into the face of a stranger. The man was dressed in one of the most outlandishly garish outfits that she’d ever seen. She sighed inwardly, for she had come across too many men just like this in her travels.  It seemed as if every high-society ball was full of them. Rich, arrogant men who were puffed up like peacocks. “Do I know you, sir?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Yeah, you do. It’s Geralt. Geralt of Rivia.”</p><p> </p><p>              Her eyes widened in shock.</p><p> </p><p>              “Geralt? Really?” she asked as she looked him up and down.</p><p> </p><p>              “Oh, yeah. How could I forget?” said the man before snatching the purple beret off his head. At which point, his white hair fell down to the tops of his shoulders.</p><p> </p><p>              “It really is you,” she exclaimed after a laugh. She quickly rose from her chair. “Please,” she said, motioning to the other side of the table. “Would you be so kind as to join me?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Of course. So, I haven’t seen you in…I guess almost two years now. What have you been doing with yourself?”</p><p> </p><p>              For the next ten minutes, Vivienne recounted to Geralt all of her adventures touring the southern lands of the Continent.  She explained that after leaving Toussaint, she’d headed to Nazair and then continued south all the way down into Nilfgaard. </p><p> </p><p>              “And, then, about six months ago, my cousin, Marissa, joined me when I came back north,” she continued. “And we ended up traveling through most of the Northern kingdoms. We just arrived in Novigrad yesterday, coming from Pont Vanis.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Wow. Sounds like you’ve seen more of the Continent than even I have. I’m not sure there’s anyplace left for you to visit. So, where to next – after Novigrad?”</p><p> </p><p>              “We might stay in Oxenfurt for a day or two, but the last place on my travels – the place I want to see the most – is the Skellige Islands. I hear they’re beautiful. That you can even swim with the sirens.”         </p><p> </p><p>              Geralt grimaced.</p><p> </p><p>              “Well, it is true - the islands are definitely beautiful, but I might advise against getting too close to the sirens. The ones in Skellige aren’t peaceful, like merfolk. They can be…<em>inhospitable,</em> shall we say.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Well, that’s disappointing to hear.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Hey, I’m not trying to discourage you. In fact, I recommend visiting the islands. I just want you to be forewarned. I’d hate for anything bad to happen to you. Especially, now, after everything you’ve already gone through.”</p><p> </p><p>              Vivienne looked into the witcher’s eyes, and she would swear that she saw nothing but kindness and honesty there. </p><p> </p><p>              “You know, Geralt – I…. Sometimes, I feel like I didn’t convey to you enough just how grateful I was – I am - for what you did for me. So, I just want to say thank you, again. I hope you know that I’ll never forget it.”</p><p> </p><p>              The witcher gave her a warm smile.</p><p> </p><p>              “I’m just glad I could help. That you finally found a little joy in life.”</p><p> </p><p>              She didn’t know what to say to that.  <em>Because I’m not sure that I have found any joy – not true joy.</em></p><p> </p><p>              He then leaned in a bit and lowered his voice.</p><p> </p><p>              “And you haven’t had any problems since then? No residual effects?”</p><p> </p><p>              “No. Well, nothing physical.”</p><p> </p><p>              She suddenly saw the look of concern on his face.</p><p> </p><p>              “But?”</p><p>             </p><p>              She, then, smiled and blushed.</p><p> </p><p>              “Well, I still have the almost uncontrollable urge to sing out loud at dusk and dawn.  To let my voice chime in with all the other birds that are tweeting and chirping.”</p><p> </p><p>              <em>I can’t believe I just told him that</em>, she thought, blushing even more.</p><p> </p><p>              “Oh,” he said before letting out a sigh of relief. “You had me worried there for a second. That actually sounds quite nice. Nothing else?”</p><p> </p><p>              She wasn’t going to say anything else. She’d certainly never shared this information with anyone. But seeing the witcher sitting there across from her, she suddenly had the urge to tell him. But she wasn’t sure why.</p><p> </p><p>              “Actually – and I don’t know how to explain it – but yes.  I sometimes get the feeling that when I sing, the birds can – I don’t know – understand me.  Is that…is that normal?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Well, I probably wouldn’t go so far as to call it normal,” he answered with a smile. “But it’s not unheard of.  I actually have a friend who can speak to birds. Can give them commands and receive messages from them.  Could you do that before?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Perhaps.  I always felt a connection to birds – especially orioles.  But I never really explored it.  Perhaps because, at the time, I viewed anything to do with birds as…well, as a curse.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Makes sense.  But maybe now you can view it as a gift. I know that my friend sees it as an asset. So, maybe it’s just comes down to changing your perspective.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Perhaps, you are correct,” she said with a smile. “Now, speaking of how we look at things…what is going on with your look?”</p><p> </p><p>              They both chuckled at that, and then Geralt glanced down at his attire.</p><p> </p><p>              “Yeah, this. Well, I’m working on something, and I needed a disguise.”</p><p> </p><p>              “A witcher contract?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Yes and no.  What I’m doing would normally constitute a contract, but no coin’s involved. I’m just helping out a friend. I’m sorry, but I can’t really say any more than that.”</p><p> </p><p>              “No, no. I understand. I wouldn’t want you to tell me more. I completely understand the need for discretion. That was one of the things I admired about you back then.  That you respected my desire for privacy.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Of course.” Suddenly, she noticed his eyes slightly widen, and he nodded his head. “What are you doing right now?”</p><p> </p><p>              She was about to mention the plans she’d made with regards to Hierarch Square, but instead said, “Nothing. Why do you ask?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Well, I can’t really tell you any details about what I’m working on, but I could use your help. What do you say?”</p><p> </p><p>              At first, she was so surprised by the request that she didn’t respond.</p><p> </p><p>              “Don’t worry. It’s nothing dangerous. I would never put you in a situation like that.”</p><p> </p><p>              “No, no. It’s not that. I – yes, I’ll definitely help you.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Fantastic. Let me get shaved and changed out of this nonsense, and then I’ll be right back.”</p><p> </p><p>              And with that, the witcher was up and gone before she could say another word.</p><p> </p><p>oOo</p><p> </p><p>              As soon as Geralt – sans his dark facial hair - knocked on the threshold, he heard the demon-dog start yapping from within the flat.  This was immediately followed by a woman’s shrill voice.</p><p> </p><p>              “Shush, now, Pickles! Shush!”</p><p> </p><p>              A moment later, the broken door was opened to reveal Tiffani, cradling a barking, shaking rat-dog in her left arm.  Upon seeing Geralt, the mutt bared its teeth and started yapping even more loudly.</p><p> </p><p>              “This isn’t a good time. Whadya want?” she asked, giving Geralt and Vivienne a once over.</p><p> </p><p>              When the witcher had returned to his room at the cabaret earlier, luckily all of his clothes had been laundered and were folded neatly on his bed.  He’d quickly shaved, gotten dressed in his own attire and then led Vivienne into the Bits. On the way, he’d explained why he thought he might need her assistance. </p><p> </p><p>              “I’m about to talk to a woman and ask her a favor.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Okay,” Vivienne had said. “But why do you need me?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Well, first, I’ve got the feeling that she’s not going to be real receptive to my request.  Secondly, I don’t know exactly how she’ll react to my presence.” <em>Especially, considering I ransacked her place last night,</em> he thought to himself. “I can sometimes be intimidating. So, it might help put her at ease if there was another woman present.  You still willing to help?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Of course. After how you helped me, I owe you.”</p><p> </p><p>              Upon hearing that, Geralt had suddenly stopped in the street, for her words had immediately brought back the sexual dream that he’d had of her back at Corvo Bianco. </p><p>                                                </p><p>              “No, no, no,” he’d stammered, holding up a hand.  “I don’t want you to do this out of guilt or obligation. In fact, I don’t want <em>any repayment</em> for what I did for you two years ago, okay?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Okay. Then…I’ll do it simply because I want to help you…and your friend.”</p><p> </p><p>              The witcher had nodded at that, and then they’d continued on to Tiffani’s.  Now, he was standing in front of the bar-wench, and when he looked over her head, he could see that her flat was still a mess. The wardrobe was still tipped over, and dirt and flour still covered parts of the floor.</p><p> </p><p>              “Well, I’m here on behalf of mutual acquaintance,” Geralt shouted over the dog’s barking.</p><p> </p><p>              “Acquaintance?” she asked, squinting into his eyes. “Who?”</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt glanced sideways at Vivienne, hoping he wouldn’t have to reveal Dandelion’s name. </p><p> </p><p>              “A certain <em>bard</em>…”</p><p> </p><p>              It took a moment, but finally, he could see in her eyes that the word registered.</p><p> </p><p>              “Oh,” she said with a small snarl. “That asshole.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Indeed – that asshole,” said Geralt with his best ingratiating smile.  “I was hoping that you might be willing to cancel the, uh, -” again he glanced at Vivienne “– <em>request</em> you had placed upon him.”</p><p> </p><p>              “What? What request? Oh, you mean the hex?”</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt sighed.  He hadn’t wanted Vivienne to know any details. “Yes, the hex.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Fine, whatever. I don’t even care anymore about that scrawny-necked, little shit. I got me a real man, now.”</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt was almost struck silent.</p><p>             </p><p>              “You mean, you’ll cancel the curse just like that?” He then smiled. He couldn’t believe it. He’d assumed that the woman was going to be quite difficult.  “Well, that’s fantastic. You know, he told me that you were a <em>very</em> levelheaded and kind person. He’ll be incredibly grateful.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Like I give a damn.”</p><p> </p><p>              “So, when can he expect to be himself once again.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Well, it’ll be a while.  If you can’t tell, my place is a wreck. Somebody broke in last night. Destroyed the place, and beat up my boyfriend. So, I don’t have no time to go visit that hedge-witch.”</p><p> </p><p>              She suddenly stopped talking and peered suspiciously at Geralt.</p><p> </p><p>              “Just where were you last night, mister?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Me? Well, I…I was…” and then Geralt paused for just as second before continuing, which allowed Vivienne to jump in.</p><p> </p><p>              “I’m really sorry about what happened to your place, but Geralt couldn’t have had anything to do with it. He was with me all night,” she said as she grabbed his hand and stepped close to him. “Isn’t that right, sweetie?”</p><p> </p><p>              The witcher peered down at Vivienne for a moment and then suddenly smiled.</p><p>“Yes, right.  All night,” he said, turning back to the bar-wench.</p><p> </p><p>              “Oh…okay,” said Tiffani, the suspicion falling from her face.</p><p> </p><p>              “Your boyfriend – did he, by chance, get a good look at whoever broke in last night?”</p><p> </p><p>              “No. Said it was too dark.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Oh, well, that’s a shame,” said Geralt, pursing his mouth and shaking his head. “A damn shame.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, don’t I know it.  Anyway, I don’t have time to see the witch, like I said.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Well, that’s not a problem. I’d be more than happy to go see her on your behalf. Just tell me her name and where she lives.”</p><p> </p><p>              The red-head opened her mouth to speak when she, suddenly, squinted her eyes at Geralt again. And then she looked him up and down a couple of times.</p><p> </p><p>              “You gotta decent size on ya. Look like your fit,” she mumbled to herself. Finally, she peered back into Geralt’s eyes. “I could, but…it’s gonna cost ya.”</p><p>             </p><p>              He cursed inwardly, but outwardly he just smiled.</p><p> </p><p>              “Of course, I’d love to be of assistance. Exactly how can I help?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Well, like I said, my boyfriend got hurt last night when whoever it was jumped him. Hurt his back.  He’s got a job down at the docks, and he tried going there this morning, but he was in too much pain to lift anything heavy so he had to come back home.”</p><p> </p><p>              “So, you want me to go to the docks and take his place for the rest of the day?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Nah. He’s been working there a while. His boss is fairly understanding.  It’s his night job he’s gonna need help with.”</p><p> </p><p>              “His night job?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Yeah, about three weeks ago, he started a part-time job at night – once a week.  It’s a great gig. The pay’s incredible. He can earn as much in one night as he does all week at the docks.  But there’s no way he’ll be able to go there tonight with his back all froze up. And like I said, he’s only been there a few weeks. If he no-shows tonight, they probably won’t ask him back.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Okay. Where exactly does he work?”</p><p> </p><p>              “At the Passiflora.”</p><p> </p><p>              “The Passiflora?” The witcher didn’t like the sound of that at all.</p><p> </p><p>              “Yeah, one night a week, they put on a ‘Ladies Night’ there.  For women customers only. That’s where I met him.”</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt was suddenly feeling dread in his stomach.</p><p> </p><p>              “And what exactly will I have to do?” He was pretty sure that he already knew the answer.</p><p> </p><p>              “Well, you’ll have to strip, of course.” She then turned and yelled over her shoulder. “Hey, Fabian, where’s your pirate outfit?”</p><p> </p><p>              “In the wardrobe,” a male voice croaked back from somewhere in the flat.</p><p> </p><p>              “Wait just a second,” ordered Tiffani as she shut the door.</p><p> </p><p>              “Unbelievable,” he whispered. Before Vivienne could respond, the bar-wench was back with a handful of clothes.</p><p> </p><p>              “Now, we expect these to be washed before you return them. And you better dance good, too.  Fabian’s been coming home with between a hundred and two hundred crown each night. So, we’ll expect that from you, too. If you do that, then I’ll give you the name of the witch.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Of course,” he said as he took the clothes from Tiffani.  But then he furrowed his brow due to what he saw on top.  It was the tiniest piece of material with some string wrapped around it.  Remembering that he was supposed to dress as a pirate, he picked it up and asked, “Is this my eye-patch?”</p><p> </p><p>              “No, dummy, that’s your thong.”</p><p> </p><p>              “My…my thong?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Yeah. To cover your package.”</p><p> </p><p>              “This? This is supposed to cover my dick?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Yeah, is that a problem?”</p><p> </p><p>              “No,” he answered after a long sigh.  “No problem at all.”</p><p> </p><p>               He turned to see Vivienne with a hand over her mouth. Her face was blushing, and it looked like she was trying to stifle a laugh.</p><p>
  
</p><p><em>              ‘Dandelion,’ </em>he thought as he clenched his jaws.<em> ‘I’m gonna kill you.’</em></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>              The witcher knelt in the sand next to the canal just outside the walls of Novigrad. He had a bucket of soapy water at his side and a washboard in hand. After leaving Tiffani’s, Geralt immediately headed back to the Chameleon to borrow some laundry supplies from ViLula, for the first item on his to-do list was to wash the pirate outfit. The last thing he wanted to do was to wear another man’s thong. But, if he had to, then he was going to make damn sure it was laundered first.</p><p> </p><p>              As he scrubbed Fabian’s ‘eye-patch’ on the washboard, his mind drifted to Vivienne, and a smile came to his face. Seeing her that morning in the cabaret had been a complete – and very pleasant - surprise. He’d honestly thought that he’d probably never see her again.  But then he reconsidered.  Maybe it wasn’t such a coincidence after all.  Given the dream that he’d had about her recently back at Corvo Bianco, then maybe he shouldn’t have been so surprised that fate had brought her back into his life.  In a way that he could never explain, over the decades, Geralt had discovered that not all – but some – of his dreams contained a somewhat prophetic element to them.  As a young boy at Kaer Morhen, he’d experienced strange dreams and visions about his mother. Dreams that he later discovered to be true.  And later in life, he and Ciri had also been connected through their dreams.  His dreams had always warned him when she was in danger. Again, he couldn’t explain it. He didn’t know if magic was involved or not.  Perhaps it was because he was a witcher – someone who could tap into the chaotic Power that permeated the world.  But, regardless of whether it was due to mutations, Destiny, magic, or some other unknown, mysterious entity, he couldn’t deny that his dreams weren’t quite normal.</p><p> </p><p>              However, despite the mystical quality to his dreams, he knew he wasn’t controlled by them. He and he alone could decide whether or not to act upon them, and the truth was that the romantic element to his dream about Vivienne still made him uncomfortable. He just didn’t think a woman that young – and beautiful – would want anything to do with a scarred-up, sterile, old witcher like himself.  But even if she was interested in him romantically, it wouldn’t work, he told himself.  Because what did they really have in common anyway?  In their conversation that morning, she’d talked about attending high-society balls, frequenting midnight dances, and rubbing elbows with the rich and sophisticated.  And all of that was about as far away from his idea of a goodtime as one could get.  Plus, his priority – once Dandelion’s wedding was over – was to get back home to his vineyard, to check on the harvest.</p><p> </p><p>              “And I’m old enough to be her grandfather,” he mumbled to himself, not for the first time. “Hell, she can’t be much older than Ciri.”</p><p> </p><p>              And it was because of those thoughts that the witcher was now by himself scrubbing another man’s thong. When he and Vivienne had returned to the cabaret, Vivienne’s cousin, Marissa, had been there waiting on her.  The two of them had then decided to spend the afternoon perusing the shops around Hierarch Square, and Vivienne had invited Geralt to join them. But, at the time, Geralt just figured she was being polite. That she didn’t really want some crusty old-timer tagging along. Thus, he’d declined the invitation.         </p><p> </p><p>              So, if he had so many doubts about their compatibility, then why could he not stop thinking about her now?  Why had he enjoyed her company so much that morning?  Why had just seeing her smile and listening to her recount her adventures put a smile on his face?  And why had his heart skipped a beat when she’d placed her hand in his and pressed herself close to him at Tiffani’s door?  The memory of her hugging his arm – along with her pleasant perfume – still lingered with him. So much so that he stopped washing the clothes for a moment and let out a long sigh.</p><p> </p><p>              “It’s been too damn long,” he whispered to himself with a shake of his head. “It’s clouding your good judgment. You need a visit to Crippled Kate’s to clear your head.”</p><p> </p><p>              But he knew he wouldn’t, for his days of calling on the services of prostitutes were way behind him.</p><p> </p><p>              “Guess I need a cold bath, then.”</p><p> </p><p>              He sighed again and looked down at the thong in his hand.  He’d already scrubbed it so hard that he was afraid if he washed it any more, it would disintegrate. </p><p> </p><p>              “To hell with this,” he growled out.  He emptied the bucket of its soapy contents and then stuffed the pirate outfit into the bucket, placing the thong on top. </p><p> </p><p>              A few minutes later, the witcher was navigating his way through the dirt roads of Far Corners, the district outside of Novigrad’s southern walls.  It was a poorer area with single story, wooden homes and thatched-roof businesses, but it was also a neighborhood with a bit of whimsy. For the walls of almost all the buildings were painted with bright, colorful flowers. Geralt honestly wasn’t sure when or why the tradition had even started, but he liked it nonetheless. Eventually, he found the shop he was looking for and walked up the short steps and through the front door without knocking. </p><p> </p><p>              “Well, well, well,” said a tall, lean, dark-haired elf. “Long time, no see, White Wolf.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Greetings, Elihal.”</p><p> </p><p>              The elf was a tailor who specialized in the latest fashions. Geralt had come across his path the last time he’d been in Novigrad looking for Dandelion.  The front room of the shop displayed a variety of colorful, flamboyant outfits.  Outfits that matched the elf’s personality to a T.</p><p> </p><p>              “I wasn’t expecting you so soon.  Here to pick up your ensemble already?”</p><p> </p><p>              The witcher furrowed his brow.</p><p> </p><p>              “What are you talking about?”<br/><br/></p><p>              “Your outfit.  You are to be the best man at Dandelion’s wedding, correct?”</p><p> </p><p>              “That’s right,” answered the witcher with a small, curious smile. “But how do you know that?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Because, silly, he hired me to create a masterpiece for you.”</p><p>             </p><p>              The smile suddenly left Geralt’s face.</p><p> </p><p>              “He didn’t.” </p><p> </p><p>              “Oh, you better believe he did.  Would you like to see it?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Do I have to?”</p><p> </p><p>              The elf chuckled.</p><p> </p><p>              “Oh, you’ll love it. It’s simply to die for,” said Elihal, heading towards his back room.</p><p> </p><p>              “Uh huh,” the witcher said after a long sigh. “I bet it is.”</p><p> </p><p>              A moment later, Elihal re-entered the room carrying a mannequin, which sported an outfit that made Geralt scowl and shake his head. </p><p> </p><p>              “This isn’t a prank? He really wants me to wear that at his wedding? In public? In front of people?”</p><p> </p><p>              “No…and yes, yes, and yes.”</p><p> </p><p>              The witcher suddenly had a flashback – to the day twenty-five years ago when he’d first met the bard.  For the outfit looked awfully similar to what Dandelion had been wearing then. The tights and culottes were a deep, forest green. The shirt was lacy with puffed cuffs and collar. And the doublet and matching beret were an almost-blinding ‘dandelion’ yellow. </p><p> </p><p>              Geralt brought a hand up to his forehead and rubbed his temples. He was pretty sure that he could feel a headache coming on.</p><p> </p><p>              “I do believe that my memory was spot on,” interjected Elihal.  “You know, once I lay eyes on someone, it’s as if their measurements are stuck in my brain. Though, it appears that you may have put on a pound or two since I saw you last.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Well, I am a man of leisure now,” the witcher said sarcastically. “It happens.”</p><p> </p><p>              “A man of leisure! How delightful! You must tell me all about it.”</p><p> </p><p>              He just sighed and shook his head.</p><p> </p><p>              “Maybe some other time. I’m actually here for another reason.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Oh, do tell.”</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt set the bucket of clothes down on the floor and then carefully picked up the thong by its string.</p><p> </p><p>              “Can you make me one of these real quick?”</p><p> </p><p>              Elihal didn’t say anything. He just cocked an eyebrow while a small smirk came to his lips.</p><p> </p><p>              “Of course.  May I ask for what purpose?”</p><p> </p><p>              “No. You may not.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Oh, you are no fun!”</p><p> </p><p>              The elf came over and took the thong from Geralt.  He spread it out with both hands.</p><p> </p><p>              “Just this size?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Actually, maybe a bit larger.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Oh, really?  Well, lucky you then. Or, should I say, lucky for the women you romance.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Yeah, yeah. Look, can you whip something up real quick or not? It’s kind of an emergency.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Of course,” said Elihal as he moved to his shelves, pulling down different fabric.</p><p> </p><p>              “And look, nothing fancy, alright?  I just want a simple thong in a plain, single color. No tiger stripes. No unicorn embroidered on the front.  Nothing showy. Got it?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Yes, yes.  You want boring. Just like you. I got it. Come back in an hour.”</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt was just about to the door when Elihal called out.</p><p> </p><p>              “Do you want to take your ensemble with you?” he asked, pointing to the green and yellow best man’s outfit.</p><p> </p><p>              “Better not.  My hands are already full with this,” he said, holding up the bucket. “I’d hate for it to, you know, slip out of my hands, wind up in a mud puddle.” </p><p> </p><p>              “You wouldn’t dare!”</p><p> </p><p>              “Accidents seem to be happening to me a lot lately,” the witcher answered before shutting the door behind him.</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt immediately walked back to the cabaret and then hung the wet, pirate outfit on a clothes line at the back of the building by the stables.  He hoped that it would be dry by the time he left for the Passiflora that night.</p><p> </p><p>              “But what does it bloody matter?” he growled to himself. “Won’t be wearing it for long anyway.”</p><p> </p><p>              The thought of being half-naked in front of a large group of women honestly didn’t bother the witcher all that much.  While it was true that he wasn’t quite as lean as he’d been on the Path, he knew that he was still in very good shape. Performing manual labor at the vineyard every day had seen to that.  Plus, there’d been a lot of women over the last eighty years that had seen him naked. So, what were a few more?  No, what was most concerning to Geralt was the fact that he was going to have to dance in front of them. And not just dance, but dance in a provocative enough way for them to actually give him money.  He just didn’t see that happening.  Vesemir and the other witcher cadre had trained him in a lot of disciplines back at Kaer Morhen, but stripping wasn’t one of them.</p><p> </p><p>              “Bloody hell,” he growled again. “I’d rather face down a chort.”</p><p> </p><p>              He was so consumed by his thoughts that, when he first entered the back door of the cabaret, he didn’t initially register that someone was calling out to him.</p><p> </p><p>              “Geralt!”</p><p> </p><p>              He looked up to see Priscilla – waving him over - near the bar of the Chameleon. She was surrounded by a group of people and looked to be very relieved to see him. As Geralt approached, his eyes first landed on an older gentleman with greying, light brown hair and fancy, waxed mustaches.  He was a handsome man, but he didn’t look happy. Next to him was a very attractive woman who had to be Priscilla’s mother. The two women looked almost identical – blonde hair and blue eyes – except for the two decades difference in age.</p><p> </p><p>              “Geralt, I’d love for you to meet my family,” said Priscilla. “May I introduce you to my father and mother – Baron and Lady Finkenbinder.”</p><p> </p><p>              “I’m Geralt. It’s a pleasure,” said the witcher, shaking the man’s hand and giving a slight bow to the matriarch. For some reason, the man’s scowl grew deeper upon the introduction.  In fact, it looked as if he’d just bitten into a very bitter lemon.</p><p> </p><p>Priscilla, then, made introductions to the others in the group including her older brother and sister and her great aunt, Eunice – a small woman who looked to be at least seventy years of age.</p><p> </p><p>              “You’re the best man, correct? The bard’s friend?” asked Lord Finkenbinder.</p><p> </p><p>              “His name is ‘Dandelion,’ Father,” said Priscilla sharply.</p><p> </p><p>              “I refuse to call a grown man such a silly name.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Fine, then, call him ‘Julian.’”</p><p> </p><p>              “Very well. I find it curious that <em>Julian</em> went on a business trip just days before his wedding.  What kind of man isn’t present to greet in future in-laws when they arrive in town?  It’s insulting, I say.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Now, dear,” said Lady Finkenbinder, patting her husband in his arm. “I’m sure it wasn’t intentional. Right, Priscilla?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Yes, Mother, that is correct. And, as you can see, Father, Dandelion has turned this place into one of the most successful cabarets in the city.  He has a lot of responsibilities. So, if he had to leave on a business trip, then it was absolutely necessary.”</p><p> </p><p>              The lord harrumphed.</p><p> </p><p>              “Maybe so…but I still don’t like it.”</p><p> </p><p>              “When was the last time you liked anything?” asked Eunice – Priscilla’s great aunt - rolling her eyes.</p><p> </p><p>              <em>‘Well, this is awkward,’</em> thought Geralt.</p><p> </p><p>              “So, are you all staying here at the Chameleon?” he asked, trying to bring the conversation to a safe topic.</p><p> </p><p>              Lord Finkenbinder harrumphed again.</p><p> </p><p>              “Stay here? In this den of iniquity? Lebioda forbid!”</p><p> </p><p>              Priscilla sighed. “Father, how many times do I have to tell you that the Chameleon is not a brothel.  It’s a cabaret.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Yes, dear,” chimed in Lady Finkenbinder. “They have musicians on stage. And poets and troubadours. Not harlots.”</p><p> </p><p>              Lord Finkenbinder didn’t bother to answer. He just continued to scowl.</p><p> </p><p>              “So, friends with the poet, huh?” piped up Priscilla’s brother – filling the silence. Quentin was as handsome as Priscilla was pretty. Tall and broad-shouldered with flowing locks that touched his collar.  He also wore a very polished sword and scabbard at his hip, and, just like his father, he also sported a scowl on his face.  “Must be another ne’er-do-well.”</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt didn’t say anything. He simply furrowed his brow and looked at Priscilla.  <em>What the hell was going on? </em> Being a witcher, Geralt was used to people taking an instant dislike towards him, but he was surprised that Priscilla’s family would be in that group. He felt like he’d just stepped into the middle of a nekker nest.</p><p> </p><p>              “Oh, pull the shafts from your asses, you two,” said Eunice. She then turned to Geralt. “Please forgive these two jackasses, Master Witcher. They’ve got the manners of a boar-hog and about as much sense. It is both a pleasure and honor to meet you. Dear Priscilla here has told us all about you.”</p><p> </p><p>              “She has?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Indeed, and I want to personally thank you for what you did for her back when she was brutally assaulted.  For exacting justice against her attacker.”</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt just nodded.</p><p> </p><p>              “Oh? That was you?” asked the baron.</p><p> </p><p>              “Yes, Father, it was,” said Priscilla. She then glared at her brother. “Not only that, but this <em>ne’er-do-well</em> also happens to be a knight. Knighted by Queen Meve of Rivia and Lyria, herself. Isn’t that correct, <em>Sir</em> Geralt?” </p><p> </p><p>              Quentin had the good graces to look slightly abashed while Geralt was just uncomfortable and wanted to leave.  He never told anyone that he’d once been knighted, but clearly, Dandelion had no such reservations.  The little twit never could keep his mouth shut. He wondered just what other stories the bard had told his fiancée.</p><p> </p><p>              “Yeah, that’s right,” he finally admitted after a long sigh.</p><p> </p><p>              “He even owns a large estate down in Toussaint.”</p><p> </p><p>               “Well, then, it truly is a pleasure to meet you,” said Priscilla’s sister – Lois – stepping forward and offering her hand. She was also batting her eye-lashes at the witcher.</p><p> </p><p>              <em>‘Oh, boy. I definitely don’t need this,’</em> Geralt said to himself.</p><p> </p><p>              “You know, I’m Priscilla’s bridesmaid,” continued Lois. “And since you’re the best man, then you and I should really get to know each other better.”  At that point, she reached out and rested her fingers on his arm.</p><p> </p><p>              “Maybe later,” said Priscilla, coming to the rescue. “I need to speak with Geralt alone for a moment.” And then she grabbed the witcher by the arm and led him a safe distance away.</p><p> </p><p>              “Your father and brother don’t seem to like Dandelion much, huh?”</p><p> </p><p>              “That’s an understatement,” Priscilla answered quickly. “They all got off on the wrong foot the first time they met, but never mind that, right now.  Where’s Dandelion?”</p><p>              “I still don’t know.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Then, why are you here, Geralt? Go back out there and find him.”</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt grabbed her gently by the shoulders.</p><p> </p><p>              “Priscilla,” he said calmly, looking into her frantic eyes. “I working on it, okay. As fast as I possibly can.  I think I’m close. Just hold on for another day. Can you do that?”</p><p> </p><p>              She breathed out slowly and eventually nodded.</p><p> </p><p>              “Yes, I can. It’s just - my family can be difficult.  Even in the best of circumstances. Aunt Eunice is the only one I truly get along with. So, I really need you to bring him back.”</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt hated making promises that he wasn’t sure he could keep, but the woman clearly needed some assurance.</p><p> </p><p>              “What you said earlier to your folks – about him coming back tomorrow.  I think that was accurate.  I hope to have him here by tomorrow. Okay?”</p><p> </p><p>              “You promise?” she asked, the hope clear on her face.</p><p> </p><p>              “Yeah, I promise.”</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>              All I’ve got to do is strip in front of a large group of women. Piece of cake.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>oOo</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt was pacing back and forth in his room at the cabaret, and he glanced out the window for what must have been the hundredth time.  The sun had recently disappeared behind the horizon, and the darkness would soon be settling in. That meant that he needed to leave for the Passiflora soon. He was just turning from the window to continue his pacing when there was a knock on his door.</p><p> </p><p>              “Maybe it’s Tiffani – come to tell me she’s changed her mind about tonight,” he whispered to himself as he walked across the room.  But he knew that was only wishful thinking.</p><p> </p><p>              When he opened the door, Vivienne was there with a smile on her face. Her skin was flushed and she was breathing a bit heavily – as if she’d been running.</p><p> </p><p>              “Excellent,” she said between breaths. “I was hoping that you’d still be here.”</p><p> </p><p>              “I was just about to leave, but come on in. Please. Is there something wrong? You look out of breath.”</p><p> </p><p>              At that, she blushed a bit more.</p><p> </p><p>              “No, nothing wrong.  I just ran up the stairs – wanting to catch you before you left for the Passiflora.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Oh, okay,” he said, a small smile coming to his lips. “My first thought was that maybe somebody was chasing you.”</p><p> </p><p>              “No, no one was pursuing me.” She then slightly bit her lower lip. “I, uh, I bought these for you.”</p><p> </p><p>              She brought forth both hands, objects in each.</p><p> </p><p>              At first, Geralt was so taken aback that he didn’t move or say a word. Eventually, though, he reached for her gifts and said, “For me?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Yes. I was thinking about you this afternoon.”</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt suddenly looked up.</p><p> </p><p>              “Really?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes.  I kept thinking about, well, you know, what you’re going to have to do tonight, and, then, I came across these items. I thought they might help.”</p><p> </p><p>              He looked down at a blue bottle in his left hand, and when he turned it in order to see the label, his eyes widened.</p><p> </p><p>              “Whoa. Bitter Steel?”</p><p> </p><p>              Vivienne nodded and smiled.</p><p> </p><p>              “What exactly is this for?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Well, I could tell from your reaction at Tiffani’s that stripping in front of a large crowd may not be something you’d be comfortable with. I know I wouldn’t. So, I thought a little bit of alcohol might help.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Yeah, well, you’re right,” he said with a long sigh. “In fact, I may need several shots of ‘liquid courage’ just to even get out on the stage.  But how did you know I was a vodka man?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Well, you <em>are</em> from the North,” she said with a smile. “So, I just made a calculated guess. Did I choose well?”</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt let out a slight laugh.</p><p> </p><p>              “Yeah, <em>very </em>well. Bitter Steel might be the best – and most expensive – vodka in all the Northern kingdoms. I don’t think I’ve had it more than once or twice in my entire life, and it was always when someone else was buying.  Never could afford it myself.”</p><p> </p><p>              He glanced down at the bottle in his hand and then back at Vivienne.</p><p> </p><p>              “This is <em>way</em> too good for me. But thank you. I truly appreciate it.”</p><p> </p><p>              Her smile slowly vanished, to be replaced with a serious look on her face.</p><p> </p><p>              “It is <em>not</em> too good for you, Geralt. Not too good at all.”</p><p> </p><p>              And, suddenly, the little room became completely still and quiet. There was so much tension in the air that Geralt felt like he was standing in the middle of a Place of Power.  The two of them stood there for several long moments, just a couple of paces a part. Neither said a word. They just stared into each other’s eyes, and, once again, the witcher could smell her perfume. It smelled wonderful – like a blooming orchard of fruit trees on a cool, spring morning.  Finally, he swallowed, broke his gaze, and looked down.</p><p> </p><p>              “And, uh, these?” he asked, holding up what looked and felt like two pieces of black, silky cloth.</p><p> </p><p>              “Here, let me show you.”</p><p> </p><p>              She took the objects from his hand and led him toward a small mirror on the wall. She then stood in front him – their faces less than a foot apart. </p><p> </p><p>              “I saw these in a boutique,” she said softly, as she reached up and put one of the pieces of cloth around the top of his face. “I remembered that you have to dress in a pirate outfit tonight and immediately thought of you – that you might want to wear them.”</p><p> </p><p>              She adjusted the cloth until Geralt could see out of the eyeholes.  It was a simple, black mask that covered the top half of his face.  She then took the other piece of silk and placed it around the top of his head. She was now only inches away from Geralt, and he could feel her breath on his lips and cheeks.  She slowly and carefully tucked his hair underneath the fabric, her fingertips brushing against the skin of his face and scalp. Her touch was almost electric. He peered closely at her face – her emerald-green eyes, her smooth skin, and sensuous lips, and he had the strongest urge to lean in and kiss her. But something inside of him kept him from doing so, and a moment later, she moved behind him to tie the ends of the cloth into a knot at the back of his head.</p><p> </p><p>              “There,” she said, standing right next to him with a smile on her face. “Now, your face and hair are both covered.  No one will know who you are. I know that would make me feel better if I had to take my clothes off in front of strangers.”</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt looked at himself in the mirror for a moment before his eyes landed on Vivienne’s reflection.  This woman had thought about him during the day. And not only that, but she’d actually bought him a couple of gifts.  He honestly couldn’t remember the last time that someone had given him a gift.  It must have been years. But she had, and that thought made him smile at her in the mirror.  She smiled back at him, and for a moment, he wondered what it all might mean.</p><p> </p><p>              Eventually, he broke his gaze and glanced at the window again to see that the night had finally come.</p><p> </p><p>              “Thank you, Vivienne,” he said, turning towards her. “Your support really means a lot.”</p><p> </p><p>              “You’re welcome, Geralt. That’s what friends are for.”</p><p>             </p><p>              Upon hearing that, he winced slightly.</p><p> </p><p>              “Right,” he said, nodding his head, a sad smile slowly coming to his face. “Friends.  Of course.  Well, I, uh, I’d better go.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Okay. Good luck.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Right.”</p><p> </p><p>              He gave her a final smile before grabbing the small bag on his bed – a bag containing the pirate outfit - and walking out the door.</p><p> </p><p>oOo</p><p> </p><p>              The witcher was sitting backstage at the Passiflora – the most high-end and elegant brothel in all of Novigrad. He was sweating through his pirate outfit, and when he looked down, he saw that his left leg was bouncing up and down. He stared at it for several seconds before he grabbed it with his hand, squeezed it hard, and pressed his foot down on the floor.  Eventually, he released his grip on his knee, and a few moments later, his leg started to involuntarily bounce again.  At that, he exhaled slowly before taking another long pull of vodka from the bottle next to him.  But he was too anxious to enjoy the top-shelf flavor.  </p><p> </p><p>              He’d arrived at the Passiflora an hour before and explained that he was replacing Fabian for the evening.  Fortunately, he already knew the madame of the brothel, Marquise Serenity, so she’d had no objections.  In fact, she thought the whole ordeal was quite humorous.  After she’d briefly explained to him her expectations of him for the rest of the evening, he’d gone backstage to change.  It wasn’t much later that the brothel began to fill up with customers, and then the first dancer hit the stage.  Madame Serenity announced to the crowd the dancer’s stage name and then the band started playing an upbeat song – heavy on the drums and stringed instruments. </p><p> </p><p>At first, Geralt had peeked through the curtain to watch the other strippers in action, but what he’d seen had only made him more nervous. To the witcher’s eyes, the crowd of women seemed more like a pack of wolves.  There was a ravenous, hungry look on their faces, and they howled at the top of their lungs whenever the dancers took the stage.  And watching the performers had only made his stomach drop even more. They were totally uninhibited – strutting around almost completely naked in perfect timing with the music.  Sometimes jumping out into the audience to rile up the she-wolves even more.  And by the gods – the humping.  There was so much humping. The dancers humped the floor of the stage. They humped the pole in the middle of the stage. They humped the chairs and potted plants at the edge of the stage. They humped the collecting bowls at the front of the stage. They’d even straddle the legs of the audience members and gyrate in front of their blushing faces.  It seemed that all the dancers actually did was hump.  Geralt had never felt more out of his element.</p><p> </p><p>oOo</p><p> </p><p>              “I cannot believe you actually wanted to come here!” Marissa yelled over the music and shouting. “What’s gotten in to you tonight?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Whatever do you mean?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Oh, please, cousin. You know exactly what I mean. I’ve been trying to get you to loosen up and let your hair down for months.  You’ve made it clear that these types of establishments are <em>not</em> your cup of tea.”</p><p> </p><p>              The two southerners were sitting near the back row of chairs in the Passiflora, watching the male strip-show.  Marissa glanced at the dancer on stage before turning her focus back to Vivienne.</p><p> </p><p>              “Are you here simply because of my lesbian remark last night?  You know, I don’t care if you are.”</p><p> </p><p>              “No,” answered Vivienne with a roll of her eyes. “I’m not trying to <em>prove</em> anything to you.  Perhaps, I am simply in the mood to admire the male form.  Why is that so hard to believe?”</p><p> </p><p>              Marissa didn’t say anything in return, but Vivienne could easily detect the suspicion on her face.</p><p> </p><p>              “Okay. Whatever. Don’t tell me.  But I know something’s up.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Just watch the show, will you?”</p><p> </p><p>              For the next twenty minutes, the two cousins rarely spoke. While Marissa hooped, hollered, and clapped along with the music, Vivienne wrung her hands together and scanned the first floor of the brothel.  She didn’t bother watching the dancers, though. She was simply trying to get a glimpse of Geralt, for she was wondering just how he was holding up. Hopefully, better than she was.  With each passing minute, it seemed as if her heart was beating faster and her palms were getting clammier.  At one point, her mouth became so dry that she went to bar and ordered a goblet of wine.</p><p> </p><p>              As she drank her wine, she wondered exactly why she was so worried about the witcher. Why was she suddenly so invested in his well-being? Because the truth was that the two of them hardly knew one another.  She could probably count on one hand the total number of hours that they’d spent together in their lives.  So, why did she seemingly care so much about him?</p><p> </p><p>              <em>“Because it’s not the quantity,” </em>she said to herself. <em>“It’s the quality.”</em></p><p>
  
</p><p>Two people could know each other for decades and never be anything more than acquaintances while two others could become fast friends in a matter of hours.  It all came down to trust and intimacy.  And it dawned on her right then that, except for her father, the witcher knew more intimate details about her life than any other man alive. And not only that, but she also trusted him more than any other man alive.  He’d proven his honor to her two years ago. So, how could she not care about him and want what was best for him?  He had freed her from her curse.  He’d saved her from her pit of despair and given her life. </p><p> </p><p>              <em>“But it’s more than gratitude you feel for him,”</em> said a voice inside of her.</p><p> </p><p>              And she couldn’t deny it.  Yes, he was weathered, rough, and rugged. He certainly didn’t fit the profile of all the dashing and regal-looking men she had dreamed about falling in love with when she’d been a young girl.  In fact, he was unlike any man that she’d ever met. But despite that – or maybe it was<em> because</em> of that - she found herself incredibly attracted to him. And she had so wanted him to kiss her back in his room earlier.  At one point, she had thought for sure that he was, but the moment had passed, and a part of her now regretted not having seized the opportunity herself. </p><p> </p><p>              <em>“So, why didn’t you?”</em> she chided herself.</p><p> </p><p>              She sighed and her face fell because she knew the answer.  A dark voice in her head – a voice that had been with her from the day that she had first learned that she was cursed - answered back.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Because who could ever truly want to be with a freak like you. So, quit fooling yourself. At most, he’d want to be your friend. Nothing else.”</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>She sighed heavily again and took a sip of her wine.</p><p> </p><p>“We can be friends,” she whispered out loud, nodding her head. “That will have to be enough, and I’m grateful for that.”</p><p> </p><p>At that point, she came out of her introspection and glanced up at the stage to see a dancer gathering up all the coins from the collecting bowls.  A moment later, Madame Serenity sashayed into view, and once she was standing in the middle of the stage, the band lowered the volume of their playing. The madame spoke in a loud, cheerful voice.</p><p> </p><p>              “Ladies!  I hope that you are all enjoying the show so far.”</p><p> </p><p>              The audience clapped and yelled out in response.</p><p> </p><p>              “Well, do I ever have a special treat for you next! Our next dancer is gracing our stage for the very first time tonight. He comes from a land faraway. He’s a brigand. He’s a scoundrel. He’s a master with his sword. And he’s here to loot your booty and steal your virtue.  May I present ‘Captain Lambert the Prick, the dreaded pirate of the great, high seas!’”</p><p> </p><p>              Upon hearing that, Vivienne’s heart skipped a beat. This had to be Geralt. She quickly gulped down the rest of her wine and rushed back to her seat next to Marissa. A moment later, the curtains at the back of the stage parted, and sure enough, it was the witcher who walked out.  With the black mask and head covering, it could be no one else. He was also wearing black trousers and boots and a dark brown vest over a puffy, white shirt.  Several women in the audience began shouting out.</p><p> </p><p>              “Show us your peg-leg, Captain Lambert!”</p><p> </p><p>              “I want to walk your plank!”</p><p> </p><p>              But it wasn’t long until the excitement died down. Soon the women were no longer shouting or standing but, instead, sitting quietly in their seats.  The only noise in the brothel was the music from the band. Vivienne brought her hand up to her mouth. She wanted to cry because, in her entire life, she’d never seen anyone look so uncomfortable. Geralt was moving his body to the beat of the music, but it wasn’t much.  And no one would ever call what he was doing dancing.  He was simply strolling around the stage, motioning his arms and shoulders in an incredibly awkward fashion. And then to make matters worse, he actually started snapping his fingers to the music.</p><p> </p><p>              “Is this a joke?” she heard a woman a few seats over ask out loud. And several women got up from their seats and headed to the bar for drinks.</p><p> </p><p>              Luckily, the first song was a short one.  Vivienne had only been at the show for an hour, but she had easily picked up the routine. Each dancer would get three songs in their set, and during the first song, the dancers would stay completely clothed. She hoped that with the start of the second song – and the commencement of some actual displaying of skin – Geralt might be able to engage and energize his audience.  </p><p> </p><p>              But her hopes were short-lived.  As the second song played, he continued to just mosey around the stage, casually taking off one article of clothing after another.  There was absolutely nothing tantalizing or enticing in his stiff movements.  However, he did get a reaction once he was finally down to his thong – a robin-egg blue fabric stretched tightly over his package.  There were several gasps and comments from the crowed. </p><p> </p><p>              “What a waste,” Vivienne heard from a woman nearby. “He’s got a frigate in his pants, but he’s got no motion in his ocean.”</p><p> </p><p>              “That is without a doubt the worst pirate-stripper I’ve ever seen,” said another woman.</p><p> </p><p>              “By the gods – look at that body!” exclaimed Marissa. “But what’s with all the scars? Those can’t be real, can they?  It’s got to be makeup for his act, right?”</p><p> </p><p>              Vivienne couldn’t answer. She just sat there – with her mouth open - staring at the witcher’s body.  But it wasn’t his lean, muscular build that had her speechless. It was the damage.  She didn’t know how it was even possible for a single body to carry that many scars. And once again, her heart went out to him. She couldn’t imagine the pain that he must have endured over the years to acquire such a patch-work.  And then she looked at his face and almost started crying again. He was doing his best to smile and act like he was enjoying himself, but the embarrassment in his eyes was unmistakable.</p><p> </p><p>              And, suddenly, she was on her feet, rushing toward the stage.  She didn’t really know why. She just knew that she wanted to be near him, to let him know that he wasn’t alone.  He saw her coming down the aisle and moved to the edge of the stage. At that point, it didn’t really matter since very few women were actually paying him any attention any longer.</p><p> </p><p>              “What the hell are you doing here?”</p><p> </p><p>              “I came here to support you.”</p><p> </p><p>              “This is a disaster.”</p><p> </p><p>              “I know.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Well, what should I do?”</p><p> </p><p>              “You’ve got to loosen up some.”</p><p> </p><p>              “How the hell do I do that?”</p><p> </p><p>              “I don’t know,” she said with a sigh. “Just…imagine that your making love to the audience.  You know, let your hips move.”</p><p> </p><p>              “I am <em>not</em> going to hump everything on this stage. That is <em>not</em> me.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Then, I don’t know. But you’ve got to do something…something <em>different</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Like what?”</p><p> </p><p>“Just do what comes natural.”</p><p> </p><p>              Suddenly, the witcher’s eyes glanced over Vivienne’s head. When he looked back down, he had a smile on his face.  </p><p> </p><p>              “That’s it. You’re a genius.” </p><p> </p><p>              Before she could say another word, Geralt leapt off the stage and ran down the aisle to the far side of the room.  On the wall was a shield with two decorative swords crossed in front of it, acting as wall art.  He gripped one of the swords by the handle and wrenched it free before sprinting back to the stage.  Vivienne watched the entire thing with a confused look on her face. What was he planning to do?</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt jumped back onto the stage, looked at the band leader, and nodded.  Instantly, the group broke into the third song – a song with an incredibly hard-driving, drum-led beat.  And the witcher – with nothing but a thong over his crotch and a sword in hand – began performing his sword drills. But instead of slow and methodical, as he had performed them almost every day of his life, now, he moved with blazing speed – in perfect pace to the bass drum.  Vivienne couldn’t believe her eyes. The difference was astonishing. Geralt had suddenly transformed from uptight and rigid into a whirling tornado.  He was jumping, flipping and pirouetting across the stage with an incredible grace and fluidity while his sword was an absolute blur around him.</p><p> </p><p>And that’s when she noticed the noise behind her. She turned to see all the women standing. Some were clapping. Some were shouting, and some were stomping their feet. But all of them had their eyes transfixed on the witcher. For the next three minutes, he put on a show that none of them had ever seen before. His strength, agility, and flexibility were superhuman, and he put them all on display. At one point, he somersaulted through the air and landed into a perfect, one-handed hand-stand.  He immediately did several one-handed presses with his feet above him and the sword to his side. He came out of that into the splits, causing the audience to gasp.  Towards the end of the song, he put a closed fist to his mouth, and when he blew out, he opened his fist and flames shot from his fingertips, making it look as if he was somehow breathing fire. By that point, the women in the audience were either screaming in excitement or shocked into silence. The song was building to its final crescendo, and just as the last beat of the drum sounded, Geralt came out of a forward flip.  He landed nimbly on both feet and let out a thunderous yell, throwing the sword over the heads of all the women in the audience.  Everyone turned, and when the blade buried into the wall – an inch away from its original position near the shield – they all screamed in triumph and ecstasy. </p><p> </p><p>“Did that just happen!?!” someone yelled above the bedlam.</p><p> </p><p>Immediately, the women rushed the stage and began tossing their coins at the witcher.  He was breathing heavy, and sweat was glistening off his chiseled body.  Vivienne thought that he looked like some kind of mythical god of virility, come to life off the pages of a fantastical fairy-tale.  She also noticed that he wasn’t looking at any of the women or the coins at his feet. He was staring straight at her, a warm smile on his face.  The moment overcame her, and she couldn’t help but laugh.</p><p> </p><p>“You’ve got to be the best pirate-stripper I’ve ever seen!” she yelled over the din.</p><p> </p><p>He glanced around him for a brief second – his eyes scanning over all the coins at his feet. When he looked back at her, he broke into another smile and gave her a slight nod.</p><p> </p><p>“So it would seem.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>               Backstage, Geralt quickly toweled off and got dressed back into his pirate outfit. He was just buckling his belt when Madame Serenity came through the curtain and approached him with a wide smile on her face.</p><p> </p><p>              “That was the most unusual strip-tease I’ve ever seen,” she proclaimed with a small laugh. She then glanced at the collecting bowl next to him that was nearly overflowing with coins. “Unusual, but highly effective. You remember that half of that is mine, right?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Yeah, I remember. Boss has to have her cut.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Indeed. And the boss would like even more. So, hurry up and finish getting dressed. You’ve got a customer who wants a private audience. In fact, after the show you just put on, I’m betting you’re going to have private engagements all night.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Right,” he answered, hoping that the customer might be Vivienne. He really wanted to speak with her and thank her for all her support earlier.  And for giving him the idea to display his witcher skills on the stage. </p><p> </p><p>              “She’s waiting in the Jasmine Suite.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Which room is that again?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Second floor, first door on your right.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Got it,” he said as he finished putting on his boots.</p><p> </p><p>              He left through a side curtain and went up some back stairs to the second floor.  As he ascended the stairs, he recalled what the madame had explained to him earlier in the evening.  He’d have around an hour between his sets on the main stage, and during that time, he had to be available for any woman who wanted a private audience. When asked what a private performance consisted of, Madame Serenity had laughed and said, “Anything that you’re willing to do. Just remember - I get half of whatever she pays you.”</p><p> </p><p>A moment later, he reached the second floor and, to his disappointment, he saw that the woman waiting for him wasn’t Vivienne.  Though, the truth was that he couldn’t tell exactly who the woman was because she wore a cloak with the hood covering her head. He also wondered why she was waiting for him at the door instead of inside the room. </p><p> </p><p>              “You asked for me?” he said as he approached the mystery woman</p><p> </p><p>              “Not me,” she answered. “But the woman I’m escorting – yes.”</p><p> </p><p>              The witcher wasn’t sure, but he could have sworn that he’d heard the woman’s voice from somewhere before. He ducked his head slightly, hoping to get a clear view of her face, but all he could see was her mouth and chin.</p><p> </p><p>              “But before we enter, where I’ll make introductions, I wanted to first speak with you out here, Captain Lambert, the Prick.”  She then laughed lightly. “Or, should I say, Geralt of Rivia?”</p><p> </p><p>              He suddenly furrowed his brows, and then, his eyes widened when the woman lifted her head so that he could see her face.</p><p> </p><p>              “Keira? How - how did you know it was me?”</p><p> </p><p>              The sorceress stuck out her bottom lip in a fake pout.</p><p> </p><p>              “Oh, Geralt, are you saying that you’ve forgotten?  Forgotten our passionate night of love-making?  I would’ve recognized your scarred-up body anywhere.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Knock it off.  Your feelings aren’t hurt, and I’d hardly call what we did as ‘making-love.’ If I remember correctly, you were just using me.’’</p><p> </p><p>              “To-<em>may</em>-to, to-<em>mah</em>-to,” she said with a laugh. “It’s all the same.”</p><p> </p><p>              “So, what do you want? I don’t have time to reminisce right now. I’m actually...well, <em>working</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Indeed, you are,” she said with another laugh. “And you could have knocked me over with a feather when I saw it was you on that stage.  Have you taken up a new profession, Geralt? Retired from witcher work, have you?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Actually, I have.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Yes, I am aware.” There was a small, knowing smile on her face. “A vineyard owner, I hear. So, then, what <em>exactly</em> are you doing stripping in the Passiflora?”</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt didn’t say anything.  If what Zoltan had told him was true – that Keira Metz was part of Dijkstra’s inner circle – then he wasn’t surprised that she knew he’d left the Path.  Dijkstra’s network of spies was probably only rivaled by Emperor Emhyr’s.  While he and the blonde sorceress had a bit of history together – having done each other some favors years past - the truth was that he wasn’t real pleased to see her at the moment. Because if she was now aware that he was in town, then that would mean the Chancellor of Redania would soon be aware, as well. If the man didn’t know already. So, given all of that, the witcher wasn’t about to answer her question.  Telling her anything would be tantamount to telling Dijkstra himself.  Thus, the two of them simply stared at one another for several moments, and when it became clear that Geralt wasn’t going to volunteer anything else, Keira broke the silence.</p><p> </p><p>              “Well, regardless, it appears that this is <em>serendipity</em>, the two of us meeting here tonight.”</p><p> </p><p>              “I’ll be the judge of that.”</p><p> </p><p>              Keira laughed.</p><p> </p><p>              “Oh, Geralt. Please, never change,” she said before laughing again. “You know, I just can’t imagine why you and Yennefer didn’t work out. You are such a charmer.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Just get to the point, will you? What do you want?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Very well. As I said, I am acting as an escort tonight. For the wife of a <em>very</em> important person.  And, well, she was quite impressed with your display on the stage below earlier. So, she wanted to see you…up close and personal.”</p><p> </p><p>              Without waiting for a response, the sorceress turned and opened the door to the suite.   Geralt followed her into the room and shut the door behind him.  The interior was elegantly furnished, as befitting the Passiflora’s reputation, but Geralt only gave his surroundings a cursory glance before his eyes quickly focused on the woman standing just in front of a large, four-poster bed.  Like Keira, she had a hood over her head, and when she removed her cloak, he saw that she was quite attractive, with dark skin, brown eyes, and long, black hair that was braided into an elaborate fashion.  She sported a simple, golden circlet around her forehead and wore an exotic-looking dress of yellow, blue, and gold trim. If her appearance wasn’t enough to clue the witcher in to the fact that she was a foreigner, her accent when she spoke removed all doubt.</p><p> </p><p>              “Greetings, sir. To remove clothes would be kind of you, please?”</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt didn’t bother to say anything. He simply nodded and then methodically undressed until he was down to nothing but the bright, blue thong.  At that point, the woman approached him and began to slowly appraise his body.  Up close, he could pick up an exotic scent. Almost like cinnamon.  He also noticed a few, small wrinkles around the woman’s eyes and some strands of grey hair mixed in with the black.  But none of that detracted from her beauty.  In fact, they gave her an appearance of wisdom and maturity that made her even more attractive.  She walked slowly around him, her eyes scanning up and down the entire time. Once she was back in front of the witcher, she smiled, revealing straight, white teeth.</p><p> </p><p>              “To you, a proposition I offer.”</p><p> </p><p>oOo</p><p> </p><p>              “Alright,” said Marissa, a big smile on her face. “I’ve let you keep it to yourself long enough. Now, come clean. Who is he?”</p><p> </p><p>              She and Vivienne were back in their room at the Chameleon, with Marissa sprawled out on their queen size bed, eating some fresh strawberries.</p><p> </p><p>              “Who is who?” asked Vivienne coyly, sitting cross-legged at the foot of the bed.</p><p> </p><p>              “Captain Lambert, the Prick,” said Marissa with a laugh. “That’s who.”</p><p> </p><p>              “I can honestly say that I know of no one by that name.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Oh really?  So, you just ran up to that stage and talked to a strange dancer because…why exactly?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Because I felt sorry for him. You saw the way he was dancing. He looked so awkward and embarrassed.”</p><p> </p><p>              “I’ll say. So, what exactly did you tell him?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Just to loosen up some. To imagine he was making love to the audience.”</p><p> </p><p>              Marissa started laughing out loud.</p><p> </p><p>              “So, that’s how he makes love to a woman? With back-flips and sword-throwing?”</p><p> </p><p>              Vivienne smiled at that.</p><p> </p><p>              “Yes, well, he clearly had another idea in mind.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Clearly,” answered Marissa before laying back against some pillows and continuing to nibble on the fruit.  “I wonder just who he is.”</p><p> </p><p>              “I…I wouldn’t know.”</p><p> </p><p>              Vivienne hated lying to her cousin, but there was no way that she would break Geralt’s trust.  After everything that he’d done for her, she owed him that much.</p><p> </p><p>              “He can’t just be a simple stripper.  He’s got to have some amazing backstory.  Because did you see all the scars on his body? And the fire-breathing?”</p><p> </p><p>              Vivienne decided not to respond, hoping that Marissa would eventually change the subject.</p><p> </p><p>              “I bet he’s a former mercenary. That’s where he got his scars and the sword skills.  But at some point, he had a crisis of conscience and decided he could no longer kill for money.  Or, no, wait – even better. He was betrayed by his own men – because his unit was hired to kill the family of the woman he loved, and he took his lover and fled to the north, keeping himself disguised the entire time. But then his lover became pregnant, and they needed coin. So, for a while, he worked in a carnival. That’s how he learned the fire-breathing trick. And now, he and his little family travel from town to town – one step ahead of their pursuers while he must resort to odd jobs to keep them clothed and fed.”</p><p> </p><p>              Vivienne laughed.</p><p> </p><p>              “You have got a vivid imagination. You should write romance novels.”</p><p> </p><p>              Suddenly, Marissa sat up straight, staring in disbelief at her cousin.</p><p> </p><p>              “Wait a tick! You’re lying to me. I <em>know</em> you know him. The mask and bandana he wore on stage! I saw you buy those this afternoon in Hierarch Square. Tell me I’m wrong!”</p><p> </p><p>              Vivienne stared at the younger woman before she eventually let out a long sigh.</p><p> </p><p>              “Okay, you’re not wrong.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Well, who is he, then?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Marissa, I can’t tell you. I <em>can’t</em>. It’s not my place to say. I hope that you can respect that.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Hold on. It couldn’t have been that old, white-haired guy you introduced me to this morning, right?  What was his name? Jerald or something?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Of course not! That’s just silly.” </p><p> </p><p>              “Yeah, I guess so. So, you’re really not going to tell me?”</p><p> </p><p>              Vivienne shook her head.</p><p> </p><p>              “I’m sorry, Marissa, but it’s not my secret to share. Okay?”</p><p> </p><p>              The brunette made a sour face, but it was quickly replaced with a smile as she scooched across the bed so that she and Vivienne were knee to knee.</p><p> </p><p>              “Fine, but at least tell me how you know him. Did you meet him here in Novigrad? If so, then you work as fast as me. We only got here last night.”</p><p> </p><p>              “No, he and I actually met a couple of years ago, in Toussaint.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Were you <em>lovers</em>?”</p><p> </p><p>              “No! We weren’t lovers,” said Vivienne, turning red. “He was a complete gentleman.”</p><p> </p><p>              “How boring.” Before Vivienne could protest, Marissa plowed ahead. “Okay, okay – so he was a complete gentleman.  But,” and she smiled widely, “do you <em>want</em> to be his lover?”</p><p> </p><p>              Vivienne blushed even further.</p><p> </p><p>              “I am not going to answer that.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Ah ha! That’s not a ‘no!’ So, you do like men after all.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Of course, I do. I just don’t think about sleeping with all of them, that’s all.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Well, you should. And especially with this one…<em>the Prick</em>. Did you see how big he was?”</p><p> </p><p>              Vivienne refused to answer.</p><p> </p><p>              “Ha! I know you did.  And by the gods – that butt!  You could bounce an oren off of it clear across the room.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Now why in the world would you even want to do that?”</p><p> </p><p>              “I’m not saying I’d want to. I’m just saying you could. You have to admit, it’s de-lish.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Yes,” she agreed, as a small smile came to her lips. “It was quite shapely.”</p><p> </p><p>“What I’d really like to do…is bite it!” Marissa exclaimed wide-eyed, before chomping down on the rest of the strawberry.</p><p> </p><p>              Vivienne laughed. “You’re incorrigible.”</p><p> </p><p>              “I know. And you love it.  Listen, Viv, you better grab this guy, whoever he is. The fact that you’ve been blushing the entire time we’ve been talking about him tells me just how much you like him.”</p><p> </p><p>              “I have not!”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, please. Now, it’s true – he can’t dance worth a damn, but you can always teach him how to…<em>move </em>those hips. If you know what I mean.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Marissa, I always know what you mean<em>.  Everybody</em> always knows what you mean.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Good. Because life’s too short to play games,” she replied with a shrug. “To play the demure, naïve maiden. I say – when you see what you want, go for it.”</p><p> </p><p>              Suddenly, Vivienne’s face turned serious.</p><p> </p><p>              “You really think I should? What if – what if he’s not interested?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Then, he’s a damn fool.  What man in his right mind wouldn’t want you?  You are kind and generous and encouraging. You’re sophisticated and absolutely beautiful.  If I didn’t love you so much, I’d hate you. Hell, if I didn’t love men so much, I’d go for you.”</p><p> </p><p>              The blonde smiled briefly but quickly turned pensive again.</p><p> </p><p>              “I don’t know. What man could actually -” But she broke off her thought. Not voicing the insecurity that she always carried with her.</p><p> </p><p>              A moment later, Marissa reached over and grabbed both of Vivienne’s hands in her own. She stared her cousin intently in the eyes.</p><p> </p><p>              “Vivienne, I know that you think I’m immature, impetuous, and promiscuous. And maybe I am.  I certainly won’t deny the last one. But I’ve been alive long enough to learn that all of my greatest regrets in life have never been when I tried and failed. My greatest regrets have always come from those moments when I had an opportunity to act on my desires but my fears kept me from it. Life is just too short to live with a bunch of ‘If only I would haves’ hanging over my head.</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t know exactly what it is inside of you that’s holding you back, but I know there’s something. I’ve seen it these last six months. And whatever it is, I think it’s keeping you from happiness.  And that breaks my heart. Because I want you to be happy, Viv.”</p><p> </p><p>Vivienne suddenly felt the tears welling up in her eyes. She let go of her cousin’s hands and hugged her tightly. After a moment, she swallowed hard and spoke.</p><p> </p><p>“Thank you, Marissa. I love you.”</p><p> </p><p>“I love you, too, Viv.”</p><p> </p><p>Eventually, the two women separated.</p><p> </p><p>“When did you become so wise?” asked Vivienne with a smile.</p><p> </p><p>“I’ve always been,” she answered, returning the smile. “I just hide it.”</p><p> </p><p>“Is that so? And why would you do that?”</p><p> </p><p>Marissa cupped her large breasts in her hands.</p><p> </p><p>“With these boobs…<em>and </em>brains? It just wouldn’t be fair to the rest of the women of the world.  I’ve got to give you ladies a bit of a chance.”</p><p> </p><p>“And we thank you for that.”</p><p> </p><p>“Now, speaking of ‘life being too short,’ the night’s still young and all this talk about your man’s delicious bottom has made me randy.  I think I might take a hansom cab over to the Royal Ambassador, see if I can find Count Dufrene. Do you want to join me?”</p><p> </p><p>“I think I’ll pass. I’ve got…other things on my mind.”</p><p> </p><p>“Of course. Then, don’t wait up.”</p><p> </p><p>“I never do.”</p><p> </p><p>oOo</p><p> </p><p>              It was well past midnight before Geralt finally made it back to the Chameleon, and he was beat. Madame Serenity had been correct.  He’d had virtually no down time the entire evening, for it seemed as if every woman in the joint had wanted a private audience with him at some point.  Well, every woman but Vivienne.  She’d apparently left the brothel some time before his second set. He’d looked for her down in the main room but hadn’t been able to find her anywhere.  And he was surprised by just how disappointed he’d felt when he’d discovered that she’d left without saying goodbye.  He’d really wanted to speak with her – to express his gratitude for everything that she’d done for him that day.  She’d helped him with Tiffani. She’d bought him the mask, the bandana, and the incredibly expensive vodka. And, of course, she’d come to his rescue on the stage when it looked like the entire evening was going to end up a fiasco.  He could probably count on one hand the number of times in his life that someone had actually rescued him.  Growing up at Kaer Morhen, it had been drilled into him that he should never expect aide from anyone. He was to be a witcher – forever walking the Path alone, with no one to rely on but himself.  But Vivienne had helped him, and that thought caused him to almost smile. </p><p> </p><p>And, ultimately, it was okay that she’d left early, he told himself, for he knew that she was staying at the cabaret. He’d be able to speak with her there. Though, he also figured it was way too late to go by her room at that point. She’d most likely be asleep by now. And the thought of her lying in bed, suddenly, brought certain other thoughts to mind. Natural but unwelcome thoughts. For the first time in a very long time – perhaps even years – he was thinking of a woman romantically.  And he wondered if it was possible that she could think of him the same way.</p><p> </p><p>              “Knock it off,” he said to himself after only a moment, shaking his head.  For he remembered clearly what she’d called him in his room earlier in the evening.  That dreaded word - friend.  “All she wants to be is your friend. As if she would ever want anything else from a mutant freak like you.”</p><p> </p><p>              And he suddenly had the strongest desire to be back home. While working the fields day after day didn’t truly fulfill him, he at least felt safe at Corvo Bianco.  If nothing else, there were certainly no romantic entanglements to complicate his life.</p><p> </p><p>With the smile no longer on his face, he bypassed the front-door and headed towards the back of the cabaret near the stables.  The bucket and washboard were where he’d left them earlier in the day.  He grabbed them, exited the city through Glory Gate, and returned to the canal.  And though he would have preferred to be in bed, he instead spent the next half-hour washing the sweat-soaked pirate outfit like Tiffani had demanded.  He knew he could have asked ViLula to launder it, but more than likely she was already down for the night, and he wanted to get this whole bloody ordeal over with as quickly as possible. While he had initially busted Dandelion’s chops the night before, the truth was that he really did want to help his long-time pal out of his predicament.  And Priscilla, too. So, the sooner that he could break the curse, the sooner that Dandelion could return and reconcile with his fiancée. Then, they could get married, and he could finally return home, back to his estate.  And he really did desire to be back at Corvo Bianco, for this ‘holiday’ north was not going as he’d hoped.  He had wanted to enjoy some peaceful, relaxing days with his friends. Swapping old stories, having a few laughs, and, perhaps, drinking a bit too much. But, so far, there’d been none of that.  As he’d feared, Dandelion had once again dragged him into trouble.  With everything that had happened, he couldn’t believe that he’d been in town for barely more than a day.  It seemed that he’d already been there a week.</p><p> </p><p>              “I’m getting too old for this shit,” he whispered to himself as he trudged back to the cabaret. </p><p> </p><p>The witcher was now in a dark mood, and he wished that he just could sink into a deep tub of scalding water. Because the truth was that he felt as soiled as the pirate outfit had been.  But he knew that what really needed cleansing wasn’t his skin, but rather his spirit.  He couldn’t explain exactly why, but he felt stained and dirty on the inside.  Perhaps, it was because he’d spent the entire evening taking off his clothes for strangers. That might have been exciting to some, but it had just left him depressed and with a sense of self-loathing.</p><p> </p><p>              He hung the pirate clothes on a line and then made his way up the back stairs to his room.  At that point, all he wanted to do was fall into bed and, hopefully, unlike the night before, get six or seven hours of peaceful sleep.  He put his key in the lock, and as soon as he opened the door to his room, he knew he wasn’t alone. He instinctively reached up for the hilt of his sword – for a sword that wasn’t there.</p><p> </p><p>              “Looking for these?” said Sigismund Dijkstra with a laugh.</p><p> </p><p>              To one side of the dimly-lit room was a table and chairs. A lamp on the table gave the room a small amount of illumination, and the light flickered off the pig-like face and bald head of Redania’s Chancellor. He had squeezed himself into one of the chairs and had Geralt’s swords resting across his ample lap.  On either side of Dijkstra were four of the biggest men that Geralt had ever seen. Perhaps even bigger than Dijkstra himself.   They were certainly more fit, and they were all decked out in full, plate armor.  The witcher glanced to his right to see four other guards dressed the same and standing at attention, their hands resting on the pommels of their swords.</p><p> </p><p>              “I knew you’d retired, but I never thought I’d see the day when you’d actually leave your swords behind. You’re getting sloppy and careless in your old age.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Maybe so,” said Geralt with a smile.  But it was a smile that would’ve frozen water. And then in a flash, he grabbed the knife at his hip and hurled it towards Dijkstra. The blade sailed just a few inches over his head and slammed into the wall behind him. It had happened so fast that the guards still hadn’t even cleared their swords from their scabbards.</p><p> </p><p>              “But if I had wanted, I could’ve put that knife through your throat just now…while your goon-squad just stood there looking stupid.”</p><p> </p><p>              The small room was deathly silent for several long moments before, eventually, Dijkstra chuckled.  He motioned with a hand, and his eight guards immediately moved past Geralt and shut the door behind them.</p><p> </p><p>              “You may have retired, but I see that some things never change.  That’s comforting to know.”    </p><p> </p><p>              “Yeah, well, call me sensitive, but being threatened typically puts me a foul mood.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Threatened? Who’s threatened you? Give me a name and I’ll have them flogged.”</p><p> </p><p>              Dijkstra’s smirk still hadn’t left his face.</p><p> </p><p>              “Spare me your innocent act. You could’ve easily sent over a single knight with an invitation to your palace.  But, no, you break into my room and bring a squad a heavily-armored men.  It’s nothing more than you whipping out your cock to show me how big it is.”</p><p> </p><p>              The Chancellor’s smile suddenly changed. And, now, like Geralt’s, there was no warmth in it.</p><p> </p><p>              “Or I could have sent a company of my so-called ‘goons’ to beat you bloody, shackle you in chains, and throw you into one of my dungeons for a week. Then, you’d have seen how massive my cock really is.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Guess I’ll consider myself lucky then.”</p><p> </p><p>              After a moment, Dijkstra gave a small shake of his head.</p><p> </p><p>              “Well, as usual, your surly attitude has gotten us off on the wrong foot.  I’m actually here to do you a favor.”</p><p> </p><p>              The witcher had known Dijkstra too long to believe that.  But he knew it was best to hear the man out, at least.  He was the ruler of the entire Redanian country after all.</p><p> </p><p>              He walked over to the table.  “A favor, huh? Well, you can start by handing over my swords.”</p><p> </p><p>              After Dijkstra complied, Geralt sat down in a chair opposite him. Given that he’d come across Keira Metz earlier in the evening, the witcher wasn’t all that surprised that Dijkstra was in his room.  He just didn’t know exactly what the man wanted.  But he knew for sure that the Chancellor wasn’t there to do him a favor.</p><p>             </p><p>              “I’m all ears. What’s this favor you’re going to grace me with?”</p><p> </p><p>              “I’ve got a very simple job for you to do.  A job that will pay quite handsomely.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Uh huh. Right.  I remember very clearly the jobs I did for you last time I was in Novigrad. None of them were simple. In fact, they almost got me killed. So, no thanks. I don’t need the money that badly.”</p><p> </p><p>              “I can promise you – there’s no danger this time.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Oh, you promise, do you? Well, that changes everything.  If it’s so safe and simple, then why don’t you just handle it yourself?”</p><p> </p><p>              Suddenly, the Chancellor let out a full-throated laugh and patted his large belly.</p><p> </p><p>              “Let me explain, and you’ll find out why.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Fine. Let’s hear it.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Over the years, you’ve made it clear that you have no interest in politics. So, I’ll spare you details.  Just know that I am in the middle of forming a trade agreement with the kingdom of Ofier.  A trade agreement that is vitally important to me – as it will greatly strengthen Redania’s economy.”</p><p> </p><p>              Suddenly, Geralt knew exactly what Dijkstra wanted. But he wasn’t about to let the bald man know.</p><p> </p><p>              “That’s fascinating. How does that concern me exactly?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Earlier this evening, the wife of the Ofieri ambassador, Helgard Nadari, took a great interest in you.  I believe that she even made you a proposal. One that you refused.”</p><p> </p><p>              The witcher simply nodded.</p><p> </p><p>              “Well, I’m willing to increase the remuneration. Substantially.”</p><p> </p><p>              “I’m confused. How’s her proposal to me related to your trade deal?”</p><p> </p><p>              “It’s not. At least not directly. But Lady Nadari is not used to being told ‘no.’ It makes her sad.  Which, in turn, makes Ambassador Nadari upset.”</p><p> </p><p>              “And you need them happy if you want to finalize your agreement,” concluded the witcher.</p><p> </p><p>              “It would certainly help. Especially since I told him that I would see what I could do.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Dijkstra, I’m going to tell you what I told Keira and the lady from Ofier. I don’t take off my clothes for money.</p><p> </p><p>              The Chancellor guffawed.  “Really? I could find a hundred or more women in Novigrad who would argue differently.”</p><p> </p><p>“Tonight was a one-off.  Plus, I simply don’t have time for what she wants. I’ve got other priorities right now. And no amount of your coin is going to change my mind.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Yes, I forgot that about you. You’re a rare breed. Motivated by higher ideals than money. Well, how about this then? Do me this favor, and I’ll tell you where your friend - the bard - is located.”</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt didn’t say a word at first. He just peered hard at the former spy-master.</p><p> </p><p>              “I know where Dandelion is,” he finally said. “In Oxenfurt, on business.”</p><p> </p><p>              After a moment, a slow smile crept across Dijkstra’s face.</p><p> </p><p>              “You’ve always been a lousy liar, Geralt.  It’s one of the few things I’ve always liked about you.”</p><p> </p><p>              At that point, Dijkstra stood and limped toward the door. After opening it, he turned back and faced the witcher.</p><p> </p><p>              “I don’t know why Dandelion’s in hiding. Nor do I know exactly why you were stripping at the Passiflora tonight. But I’m betting they’re related. And if neither money nor your friend’s whereabouts motivates you, then I guess I’ll just have to find <em>something</em> that does.  Enjoy your time in Novigrad, Witcher. I hope you stay out of trouble.”</p><p> </p><p>              He gave the witcher one last smile before shutting the door behind him.</p><p> </p><p>              <em>“Terrific,”</em> thought Geralt with a long sigh. <em>“Just…bloody terrific.”</em></p><p>
  
</p><p>oOo</p><p> </p><p>              The white wolf hurried along the narrow trail barely making a sound. His senses were on high alert, completely tuned in to the surroundings.  The wet grass of the forest floor was soft on the pads of his feet.  His olfactory senses were picking up a variety of scents from the woodland flora and fauna, and his eyes were scanning the clear, blue skies above him as he pursued his prey – a small, yellow oriole.  Deep down the wolf knew that he could never catch the bird, and at times, it seemed to take pleasure in mocking him – occasionally alighting on a high tree limb where they both knew he couldn’t reach.  In those moments, he’d sit on the forest floor looking up at oriole, a small whimper escaping from his throat.  The yellow bird would flap its wings and tweet down at him.  He didn’t understand its chirps, but it seemed to be saying, “Catch me if you can.” And then it would take off in flight again.</p><p> </p><p>              The wolf didn’t know how long he’d been pursuing the bird, but eventually, they both came out of the forest and into a clearing near the top of a hill.  The predator suddenly stopped at what he saw. The trail led down into a beautiful valley full of lush vineyards, blooming orchards, and clean waters.  He felt of surge of warmth inside of him.  For he knew that it was home, and it was calling to him.  But that’s when he heard the oriole singing high above him.  He glanced upward to see the bird gliding along the winds, and then it flapped its wings and headed off in an opposite direction.  He watched the bird fly away towards the setting sun, and he felt a deep longing to follow.  But when he turned back to face the valley, he felt its pull as well.  The wolf stood there at the crossroads not knowing what to do.  He couldn’t seem to make himself take a step in either direction.  He peered again down into the valley before turning his head to find the oriole still flying away – now just a speck in the distance.  And, suddenly, the wolf raised his head and let out a mournful howl. As his cry finished echoing down into the valley, he sensed a strange vibration on his chest…</p><p> </p><p>              And Geralt immediately opened his eyes to see a shadow lurking above him. Without even thinking, he cast his hand forward and signed an Aard.  The telekinetic force blasted the shadow backwards across the room. It let out a high-pitched yelp as it flew through the air before crashing into the small table and chairs. In a flash, the witcher was out of bed with his knife in hand, but he stopped halfway to his prey and let out a sigh.  Flailing about in the wreckage of the broken table and chairs – like a turtle on its back – was Dandelion, his fake glasses sitting askew on his face and his grey beard pushed up and partially covering his eyes.</p><p> </p><p>              “First Dijkstra, now you,” growled the witcher in a low voice. “Not even sure why I lock the door anymore.”</p><p> </p><p>              He glanced at the window to see that it was just prior to sunrise before walking over and helping the bard get untangled from the mess. </p><p> </p><p>              “That’s some fine welcome,” hissed Dandelion after getting to his feet and readjusting his disguise.  “If I didn’t need your help, I’d toss you out into the street.”</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt gave a small shrug.</p><p> </p><p>              “You should know better than to sneak up on me when I’m asleep. And what the hell are you doing here anyway?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Me? What are <em>you</em> doing here? I thought you were supposed to be out there, working around the clock, figuring out how to break my curse. Instead, I find you in bed, sound asleep.  By the way, did you know that you were whimpering?”</p><p> </p><p>              The bard wore a sly smile on his face.</p><p> </p><p>              “Was I? Did I sound anything like you just now – as you flew through the air?  Because at first, I thought a little school girl had broken into my room. Turns out it was just you.”</p><p>             </p><p>              “Ha ha. Very droll. But you haven’t answered my question.  How can you be sleeping when I’m still…you know?”</p><p> </p><p>“Herbaceous?”</p><p> </p><p>              Dandelion just glared at him.</p><p> </p><p>              “Yes,” he finally stated. “Well?”</p><p> </p><p>              “You know what?  Sometimes being your friend can be an absolutely soul-sucking experience.”</p><p> </p><p>              The glare left Dandelion’s face to be replaced with a furrowed brow.</p><p> </p><p>              “Whatever do you mean?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Dealing with your nonsense is exhausting.  In fact, I’m not sure which relationship is more tiresome – the one I have with you or the one I had with Yen.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Hold on! Now you’ve gone too far.”</p><p> </p><p>              “No, I haven’t. After all the bullshit I’ve had to go through in the past twenty-four hours to help your sorry ass out…I don’t want to hear a <em>single</em> word of complaint out of you. Understood?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Well, someone has a burr in his britches this morning.”</p><p> </p><p>              “You would, too,” answered Geralt before recounting his activities since he’d last left Dandelion at the Seven Cats Inn. After a short summary – a summary in which he omitted the details of the events at the Passiflora - he concluded with, “And, now, to top it all off, I’ve got Dijkstra on my ass.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Are you serious?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Yes. Very. He and his goons broke into my room last night. He -”</p><p> </p><p>              “No, no,” interrupted Dandelion, waving his hand at Geralt.  “I don’t care about that. I’m talking about Tiffani. She’s really going to tell you the name of the witch who cursed me?  That’s fantastic! I guess I can forgive you for napping on the job, then.” He then scowled.  “I knew I was right to come here this morning. We can go see this harridan together. And, boy, let me tell you – is she ever going to get a piece of my mind.”</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt clenched his jaws.</p><p> </p><p>              “Dandelion, you yourself said that dealing with witches and curses is not your specialty.  So, how about you just keep your mouth shut for once in your life and let me handle it? Because I’m really on my last nerve right now.”</p><p> </p><p>              But the bard was no longer listening.  Instead, he was pacing back and forth in the room, like a caged animal, and mumbling to himself.</p><p> </p><p>              “She’ll rue the day…no one does this to me…does she know who I am…”</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt just shook his head, a disgusted look on his face.</p><p> </p><p>              “Knock it off, Buttercup. You’re not scaring anyone. In fact -”</p><p> </p><p>              But he was interrupted by a knock on his door.  The two men suddenly looked at each other.</p><p> </p><p>              “Are you expecting company?” whispered Dandelion.</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt shook his head. “But it could be Priscilla.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Bugger,” hissed Dandelion, wide-eyed.</p><p> </p><p>              “Hide.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Where?” he asked, frantically looking around the room.</p><p> </p><p>              The witcher pointed toward the wall.</p><p> </p><p>              “Quick - behind the door.”</p><p> </p><p>oOo</p><p> </p><p>              Vivienne looked at herself in the mirror and frowned.  She quickly took her hair back out of the pony tail and let it fall down along the top of her shoulders.</p><p> </p><p>              “Yes, that’s much better,” she said to herself. She was alone in her room at the Chameleon and she’d been up since before sunrise.</p><p> </p><p>               After smoothing the fabric of her skirt down along her hips, she brought her palm close to her mouth and exhaled forcefully a couple of times.  She wrinkled her nose and immediately went into her supplies.  A moment later, she popped some Angel’s Breath into her mouth and began chewing.  A minute later, after swallowing down the minty leaves, she took one last look into the full-length mirror before letting out a long sigh.</p><p> </p><p>              “You can do this,” she said, and then she headed for the door.</p><p> </p><p>              As she walked the hall of the cabaret, she could feel her heart thumping, and she bit down on her lower lip.</p><p> </p><p>              “You’re just asking him how things went last night. And inviting him to go to breakfast with you, that’s all. It’s no big deal. I mean, the man does have to eat, right?”</p><p> </p><p>              Before she knew it, she was at the witcher’s door. She exhaled deeply one more time, and, suddenly, she smiled.   Despite her nerves, she also really was excited. In fact, she couldn’t remember the last time she had anticipated something so much. She raised her fist in the air to knock, but she stopped and furrowed her brow.  She turned her ear toward the door.  For she thought that she could hear voices coming from inside of the room, and immediately, all of her confidence evaporated. </p><p> </p><p>              <em>“Of course,”</em> she thought to herself. <em>“I should have known he’d find some company at the Passiflora. He had women throwing themselves at him.”</em></p><p> </p><p>              She turned away from the door and was halfway down the hall when her cousin’s words came to mind and stopped her in her tracks.</p><p> </p><p>              <em>“Life’s too short, Viv. If you don’t at least try, you’ll never forgive yourself.”</em></p><p>
  
</p><p>She stood there in silence for a moment before nodding resolutely and turning on her heel. She strode up to the witcher’s door and knocked twice with authority.</p><p> </p><p>              Immediately, the voices from inside the room stopped, and then a few seconds later, the door opened to reveal Geralt in nothing but his underpants. Normally, that might have made her pause, but she’d seen much more of him the previous evening.  So, instead, she looked him right in his face – a face that was smiling back at her.</p><p> </p><p>              “Good morning,” they said at the same time.</p><p> </p><p>              That caused them both to smile.</p><p> </p><p>              “You first,” he said.</p><p> </p><p>              “Hi. I, uh, I just came by to see how things went last night. Well, that, and to see if you’d like to get some breakfast, maybe?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Last night?” He then gave a small laugh and shook his head. “Last night was a disaster until you showed up.  But it worked out alright in the end, thanks to you.”</p><p> </p><p>              She smiled and took a small step forward.</p><p> </p><p>              “That’s great to hear. I’m glad I could help.”</p><p> </p><p>              “You did. A lot. I meant to come by your room afterward and thank you, but it was way past midnight before I got back. So, thank you, Vivienne. What you did for me…I owe you one.”</p><p>             </p><p>              “Okay. So, maybe we could get some breakfast and you could tell me all about it?”</p><p> </p><p>              Suddenly, Geralt winced.</p><p> </p><p>              “I’d love to you, but that, uh, <em>contract</em> that you were helping me with…I was gonna try to get that resolved this morning.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Of course,” she said taking a step back and nodding her head. “Of course. Yes, that should take priority. Forgive me for being selfish.”</p><p> </p><p>              “No, wait! Don’t go. Maybe…maybe you could come with me? It shouldn’t be dangerous.”</p><p> </p><p>              Vivienne suddenly heard a noise coming from behind the door. It sounded as if someone was hissing at Geralt.</p><p> </p><p>              “Do you have company?” she asked as she saw a scowl come to the witcher’s face. He let out a frustrated sigh and then reached behind the door. She heard a male voice yell out “Hey!” and, a second later, she was face to face with a person who was obviously wearing some kind of disguise.  The beard was clearly fake.</p><p> </p><p>              “Vivienne, this is my friend…Mister Kupz,” said Geralt, with a slight roll of his eyes.</p><p> </p><p>              “Well, hello there,” said the stranger. “Aren’t you a delightful vision. Please call me, Buder.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Knock it off, Buder,” growled the witcher, smacking the man across the back of the head. “You’re engaged, remember?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Ah, yes. Of course.  Sorry,” he said to Vivienne with a small bow. “Old habits die hard. If you could excuse us for one moment, my lady, I’d like to have a word in private with my scarred-up friend here.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Yes. Of course.”</p><p> </p><p>              Buder gave another bow and shut the door.  At first, Vivienne was tempted to step close to try and listen in, but her good manners prevailed and she stayed rooted in place. She knew that their conversation was none of her business.  That said, she could still hear some muted words coming from the other side of the door. It was clear that the two men were having a heated discussion. And, then, suddenly, the door opened again, and Geralt stood there with a smile on his face.</p><p> </p><p>              “I have conveyed to Mr. Kupz just how invaluable you’ve been to me…and him.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Yes, and I decided that it would be an honor and a delight to share the company of such ravishing beauty this morning.”</p><p> </p><p>              Vivienne looked at Geralt.</p><p> </p><p>              “Are you sure?  I don’t want to be the cause of any problems.  We can always get together afterwards.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Yes. <em>We’re</em> sure…aren’t we, Buder?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Most definitely.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Let me just get dressed, and then we can be on our way,” said Geralt turning back towards the interior of the room.</p><p> </p><p>              “Ah, yes,” said the man called Buder. “That reminds me. You might want to wear your cloak – with the hood up.”</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt paused and looked at his friend.</p><p> </p><p>              “And why is that?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Well, you <em>might</em> have a bounty on your head.”</p><p> </p><p>              “What? What the hell are you talking about?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Well, Cletus and his boys might think that you’re a wanted man.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Who’s Cletus?”</p><p> </p><p>              “The innkeep of the Seven Cats Inn. He <em>may </em>be under the impression that you’re Letho of Gulet.”</p><p> </p><p>              “And why would he think I’m Letho?” growled the witcher.</p><p> </p><p>              “It’s not my fault! I didn’t tell you to barge into his tavern and rough everybody up.”</p><p> </p><p>              “I didn’t rough every – that is <em>not</em> what happened.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Not according to Cletus.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Dandelion, why does he think I’m Letho?”</p><p> </p><p>              “I might have told him you were.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Of course, you did,” said Geralt with a sigh.</p><p> </p><p>              “Well, I had to think of something!  They barged into my room after you left.  Asked if you were a friend of mine.  I couldn’t say yes.  They would’ve tried taking their displeasure out on me.  It could’ve gotten ugly. For them, I mean.”</p><p> </p><p>              “So, instead, you told them that I’m the most wanted regicide in all the Northern kingdoms.”</p><p> </p><p>              Mr. Kupz shrugged.</p><p> </p><p>              “He was the first witcher that came to mind.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Terrific. Just…bloody terrific.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>             “Mr. Kupz?” said Vivienne, getting the disguised man’s attention.</p><p> </p><p>              She and Buder had been standing in the alley across from Tiffani’s residence for about five minutes, and he had been pacing in silence the entire time. A silence that had been a bit awkward for her and was, frankly, making her anxious. Given that the man was Geralt’s friend, then she wanted to befriend him, as well, but she hadn’t known how to broach a conversation with him.</p><p> </p><p>Initially, despite the witcher’s objections, Buder had demanded on going with Geralt up to the third floor to confront the bar-wench.  In fact, the two of them had argued all the way to the Bits, with the witcher stating that Buder’s presence would do more harm than good.  It had only been when Geralt had growled out, “If you go, then you’ll go alone. And you can deal with her yourself. Good luck with that,” that the man with the fake beard had finally relented.   </p><p> </p><p>              “Yes, my fair lady?” said Buder, pulling his eyes away from the third-floor window.</p><p> </p><p>                “I, uh, I just wanted to say that…what Geralt said back at the cabaret…”</p><p> </p><p>              “Yes?”</p><p> </p><p>              “About me helping him with your…well, your situation…” Even through the disguise, she could see the man scowl. “Well, I just want you to know that he showed the utmost of discretion. He never told me any specifics.  Not who you are or what the issue is.”</p><p> </p><p>              His facial features softened at that.</p><p> </p><p>              “Okay. But why tell me that?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Because I don’t want you to think he betrayed your trust…when I tell you that I know who you are.”</p><p> </p><p>              “You do?”</p><p>             </p><p>              “Yes. Back at the cabaret, when you two were arguing…I heard him call you ‘Dandelion.’”</p><p> </p><p>              The bard grimaced. “The blithering idiot. Why am I not surprised? He’s never been able to keep his mouth shut.” He then sighed and peered closely at Vivienne. “So, you know my name.  Are aware of who I am, then?’”</p><p> </p><p>              “Of course,” she answered. “You’re quite…<em>famous</em> where I’m from.” She’d almost said, ‘infamous.’  Being Anna Henrietta’s lady-in-waiting, she had certainly heard of the bard, even if she wasn’t that knowledgeable of his works. </p><p> </p><p>              Suddenly, the troubadour flashed a dazzling smile and puffed out his chest.</p><p> </p><p>              “But, of course, I am, my dear. I’m not even sure why I bothered to ask.  So, where are you from exactly? By your accent, I can tell you’re not from the North.”</p><p> </p><p>              “I’m from Toussaint.”</p><p> </p><p>              Instantly, he peered upwards with a far-away look in his eyes.</p><p> </p><p>              “Ah, yes. Toussaint. The land of love and wine.”  He then sighed and brought his attention back to Vivienne. “I once had a torrid love affair in Beauclair.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Is that right?” she asked, feigning ignorance.</p><p> </p><p>              “Oh, yes.  A romance worthy of the most tragic of plays. Two star-crossed lovers, brought together by fate, but forced apart by…well, by my duty to my friends. Geralt needed me, you see.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Oh, well, how noble of you,” she flattered.  She knew the truth of what had led to the termination of his relationship with the duchess, but her good manners kept her from throwing his lie back in his face.  That, and the fact that, since he was Geralt’s best friend, then she was determined to stay on his good side.</p><p> </p><p>              “Is that where you met Geralt? In Toussaint?” he asked.</p><p> </p><p>              “Yes.”  And then she made a spur-of-the-moment decision, hoping to forge a bond with the bard. “He, well, he did a favor for me. A<em> substantial</em> favor.”</p><p> </p><p>              Dandelion peered closely at her.</p><p> </p><p>              “A <em>witcher</em> favor?”</p><p> </p><p>              She nodded.</p><p> </p><p>              “But if you don’t ask what he did for me, then I won’t ask what he’s doing for you.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Deal!” exclaimed Dandelion immediately, sticking out his hand. After they shook hands, he said, “You know - Geralt mentioned that you’ve been a great assistance to him. So, I’d like to thank you for that.”</p><p> </p><p>              “You’re quite welcome. It was really nothing, but I’m glad that he thinks so.”</p><p> </p><p>              “And <em>how</em> exactly did you assist him? He didn’t say.”</p><p> </p><p>              “You mean, he didn’t tell you about last night?”</p><p> </p><p>              Dandelion cocked an eyebrow, a small smile coming to his face.</p><p> </p><p>              “No, he did not. He simply said that you assisted him in fulfilling Tiffani’s request.”</p><p> </p><p>              Suddenly, Vivienne didn’t know what to say.  The two men may have been best friends, but there was no way that she was going to betray Geralt’s trust.  If he hadn’t told the bard about the events at the Passiflora, then she wasn’t about to either.</p><p> </p><p>              “Well -” and then her eyes went wide. “Oh, look! There’s Geralt!”</p><p> </p><p>              She let out a sigh of relief as Dandelion turned to see the witcher exiting the building and walking towards them.</p><p>             </p><p>              “Well, what did she say?” asked the bard, his voice pitched high.</p><p> </p><p>              “She said to tell you that, in the future, don’t make promises to women that you’re not willing to keep.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Well, that’s just ridiculous! That’s what men do.  Plus, I was drunk the entire week I was with her.  She can’t really hold a man in his cups responsible for what he says, can she?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Apparently, she can.  What exactly did you promise her?”</p><p> </p><p>              Dandelion shrugged. “Who knows?  And, frankly, who cares?  Did she tell you the name of the witch who cursed me? That’s all that matters.”</p><p> </p><p>              “She did.  Though it cost me every coin I had.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Well, that’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make. So?”</p><p> </p><p>              “We gotta go to the Putrid Grove.”</p><p> </p><p>              Suddenly, Dandelion made a face.</p><p> </p><p>              “What? What’s wrong now?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Well, that <em>could be</em> a problem.”</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt let out a long sigh. “Of course, it is.”</p><p> </p><p>              “I’m not on the best of terms with Francis Bedlam at the moment.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Of course, you’re not.”</p><p> </p><p>              “We kind of had a misunderstanding over some money.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Of course, you did,” answered Geralt, bringing a hand up to his forehead and rubbing his temples. After a few moments, he dropped his hand and looked at the bard. “Let’s go. We can discuss it on the way.”</p><p> </p><p>              As the three began their trek across the city, Geralt explained to Vivienne that the Putrid Grove was the enclave of Francis Bedlam, one of the city’s major crime bosses.  But Dandelion quickly jumped in to correct him.</p><p> </p><p>              “You’ve clearly been gone too long, Geralt. Because Francis is no longer the ‘King of Beggars.’ He’s an upstanding citizen now.”</p><p> </p><p>              “That right?”</p><p> </p><p> “Well, I have no doubt that he still deals in some under-the-table shenanigans from time to time, but he’s actually on the Novigrad city council now. And Putrid Grove has had a total overhaul – complete with Bedlam’s own bank, taverns, and shops.  It’s no longer putrid.  Officially, it’s just ‘The Grove’ now.”</p><p> </p><p>               “So, if he’s now on the straight-and-narrow, how’d you get cross-ways with him?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Like I said – it was a misunderstanding.  On his part.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Uh huh. I bet.  What did you do?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Nothing! But he <em>accused</em> me of breaking a deal.  As if I would ever do such a thing.  I am nothing if not a man of impeccable honor.”</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt looked at Vivienne and rolled his eyes.</p><p> </p><p>              “Just spill it already, will you?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Fine. Last year, I needed to borrow some money to upgrade the cabaret.  I went to several of the banks in town, including Bedlam’s.  He offered the best deal, and I was all set on accepting, when out of the blue, Cleaver came to see me one morning.  Said he’d heard I needed a loan and that he was willing to beat any offer from any bank.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Hold on, so when you told Zoltan that Cleaver made you an offer you couldn’t refuse, you actually meant it?  Cleaver hadn’t threatened you?”</p><p> </p><p>              “No. Why would Cleaver threaten me?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Because he’s Cleaver.  And he’s a crime lord.  He’s kind of known for that sort of thing.”</p><p> </p><p>              Dandelion just shrugged.</p><p> </p><p>              “Maybe so, but he didn’t threaten me.”</p><p> </p><p>              “So, you broke your deal with Bedlam.”</p><p> </p><p>              “No! There was no deal with Bedlam. I never signed anything.”</p><p> </p><p>              “But I’m guessing Francis doesn’t see it that way?”</p><p> </p><p>              The bard nodded. “Nope. And he wasn’t pleased. So, I’ve sort of steered clear of the Grove ever since then.”</p><p> </p><p>              “I’m surprised he didn’t display his displeasure with you with more than words.”</p><p> </p><p>              “What? Like break my lute?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Or your neck.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Yeah, I thought of that. That’s why I spoke with Dijkstra. Asked if he could maybe smooth things over for me.”</p><p> </p><p>              “And did he?”<br/><br/></p><p>              “Both my neck and lute are still in one piece,” answered Dandelion with a smile. “It’s nice to have friends in high places.”</p><p> </p><p>              “If you actually think Dijkstra is your friend, then you’re dumber than you look.”</p><p> </p><p>              “How dare you! I most certainly am not!”</p><p> </p><p>              Vivienne held back a laugh while Geralt just shook his head and raised his hands in fake surrender to his friend. His friend still wearing the floppy hat, fake beard and black-framed glasses.</p><p> </p><p>              “Sorry. You’re right,” said the witcher. “Because that’s not possible.”</p><p> </p><p>After that, the three walked the rest of the way across the city in relative silence until they were standing in a small alley across from the entrance to the Grove.  Unlike when Geralt had been there last, there was no longer any guarded door.  At some point, the entire wall had been removed, and people were walking into and out of the enclave just like they would any other neighborhood within the city.</p><p>             </p><p>              “Well, that helps,” whispered Geralt to himself.</p><p> </p><p>              “Do we need a plan?” asked Vivienne.</p><p> </p><p>              “Plan? Nah, it’ll be a piece of cake,” said Dandelion. “I’m wearing a disguise, and he can wear his cowl up.” He then turned to Geralt.  “It’ll be like old times. Just like sneaking into the co-ed living quarters at Oxenfurt Academy. We’ll be in and out lickety-split. What could go wrong?”</p><p> </p><p>              “You,” answered Geralt gruffly. “<em>You’re</em> what could go wrong. And that’s why you won’t be going in with us.”</p><p> </p><p>              “But -”</p><p>             </p><p>              “No ‘buts,’’ said Geralt, cutting him off.  “Vivienne and I will go in. We’ll ask the witch to break the curse, and then we’ll come out. Lickety-split.”</p><p> </p><p>              “And what will I do?”</p><p> </p><p>              “<em>You</em> will stand right here.  With your mouth shut. Not speaking a word to anyone. And not moving an inch. Got it?”</p><p> </p><p>              “You can’t be serious. That’s it? The hero gets relegated to the back of the stage in his own play?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Actually no.  Give me all your money.  She might make us pay to break the curse, and I don’t have any coin on me anymore. Not after Tiffani.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Never! I won’t pay some old crone to break a curse that she put on me in the first place.”</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt didn’t say a word. He just stood there, stone-faced and staring down the bard. After a few moments, Dandelion sighed in frustration.</p><p> </p><p>              “Fine!” he exclaimed before handing over his coin pouch. “I hope she chokes on it.”</p><p> </p><p>              “I’ll send her your regards,” said the witcher before putting his cowl over his head and nodding towards Vivienne.</p><p> </p><p>              The two crossed the main road towards the entrance to the Grove, but halfway there, Geralt stopped them both.</p><p> </p><p>              “Are you sure you want to come with me?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Why? Do you think it’ll be dangerous?”</p><p> </p><p>              “It shouldn’t be.  All we’re gonna do is pay a witch to break a curse. But…hell, since I got to town, almost nothing’s gone right. So, I can’t promise anything. And I’d hate for something bad to happen to you.”</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt noticed that Vivienne was staring him straight in the eye. Finally, she swallowed and gave a small nod of her head.</p><p> </p><p>              “I want to come.” Then she smiled. “And, anyway, you may need me. Especially if the witch forces you to strip in place of her injured beau.”</p><p> </p><p>              The witcher groaned.  “I was kind of hoping that you had already forgotten about that.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Geralt, you were wearing nothing but a bright blue thong while whirling around the stage, shooting fire from your palms. And you ended your set by throwing your sword over our heads, impaling it into the back wall.  I can promise you – I’ll <em>never </em>forget that. <em>Nobody</em> who saw it will.”</p><p> </p><p>              “You’ve got some serious blackmail material on me, don’t you?”</p><p> </p><p>              “No more than you’ve got on me,” she answered before her smile slowly left her face. “So…I guess we’ll just have to trust each another, won’t we?”</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt could tell that the light, jesting tone in her voice had vanished, and, suddenly, he didn’t know what to say. For trust wasn’t something that he’d ever given easily. And certainly not to women.  It was the reason why no romantic relationship had ever lasted. It was why, over the course of his life, he’d always preferred one-night stands and the company of harlots.  The abuse he’d experienced as a child at Kaer Morhen and all the years of deceit and betrayal on the Path had simply damaged him too much. He knew that deep-down he was more scarred and ugly on the inside than the out.  So, what woman could ever truly love him?</p><p> </p><p>The two of them stood there in the middle of the lane as passers-by maneuvered around them, but Geralt wasn’t paying attention to any of his surroundings anymore.  It was as if he and Vivienne were the only two people alive in that moment. He stared into her beautiful, green eyes, and he thought for sure that she was peering right into his soul.  He felt completely laid bare in front of her. Even more bare and exposed than when she’d seen him in nothing but a thong the night before.  Finally, he swallowed hard and broke the silence.</p><p> </p><p>              “Yeah,” he said in barely above a whisper. “I guess we will.  Come on.”</p><p> </p><p>              And then he turned and headed towards the entrance of the Grove before she could even respond.  A few moments later, they entered the small city district, and even though Dandelion had warned Geralt that Bedlam’s enclave had received several upgrades over the years, the witcher was still surprised by what he saw.  The last time that the witcher had been inside the Putrid Grove, it had been the run-down home to many of the city’s pickpockets, thieves, and beggars.  More than that, though, it had been one of the last refuges of Novigrad’s most severe outcasts – magic users.  Due to the persecution from the Church of the Eternal Fire, mages, witches, alchemists, herbalists, and anyone with even a whiff of the arcane about them had been forced into hiding. And one of those bastions had been the Putrid Grove.  Geralt could remember feeling as if a cloud of fear and oppression had hung over the entire enclave. But, now, the neighborhood looked no different than Hierarch Square – complete with boutiques, armorers, taverns, and more. Many of the dilapidated buildings had been torn down and replaced with brick and stone edifices.  The facades of all the business were covered with a fresh-coat of varnish.  There were small planters filled with colorful plants and flowers hanging outside of many of the windows. And Geralt didn’t see a single vagrant among all the citizens walking along the cobble-stone streets.  Apparently, Francis Bedlam really had come up in the world and, in so doing, had decided he no longer wanted to be the “King of the Beggars.”</p><p>                            </p><p>              Geralt and Vivienne strolled among the crowd for a few minutes before he finally saw what he was looking for – a shop with a small window displaying a variety of colored jars on multiple shelves.  Above the door of the shop hung a painted sign with the words, ‘Annie’s Alchemy.’ </p><p> </p><p>              He stopped at the door and turned to Vivienne.</p><p> </p><p>              “Should warn you – you might want to put a kerchief to your nose. The smell inside of alchemy shops can be pretty potent.”</p><p> </p><p>              She nodded. “I know. I’ve been in a few.”</p><p> </p><p>              “That so?”</p><p> </p><p>              “I spent a lot of years trying to find a potion or cream that might break my curse,” she whispered. “Of course, it was all for naught.”  <em>What I really needed was you</em>, she had the urge to tell him, but she kept the thought to herself.</p><p> </p><p>              “Right. Well, hopefully we won’t be wasting our time today,” he replied as he opened the door, causing a small bell to jingle over his head.</p><p> </p><p>              Vivienne followed him inside and realized immediately that the witcher had been telling the truth.  There was an acrid odor in the air that brought tears to her eyes.  She brought her wrist up to her nose so that she could smell the perfume on her skin while she took in her surroundings.  There were shelves along all the walls that were covered with hundreds of sealed, glass containers.  Containers that she knew were filled with an assortment of herbs, flowers, animal organs, and such.  There were a couple of customers in the shop peering closely at random jars, and a young man wearing an apron stood behind the main counter.</p><p> </p><p>              “Welcome to Annie’s,” he said cheerfully.  “Home to all your alchemy needs. How may I assist you?”</p><p> </p><p>              “I need to see the Master Alchemist,” Geralt said in a low voice after they had approached the counter.</p><p> </p><p>              “Of course. She’s in back. May I ask to what your request pertains?”</p><p> </p><p>              “It pertains to a delicate matter.  One of a highly personal nature. The sort of thing she specializes in.”</p><p> </p><p>              The man’s face suddenly turned serious. “And your name?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Just tell her that I’m a witcher and that I need her expertise on a contract.”</p><p> </p><p>“Wait here, please. I’ll let her know.”</p><p> </p><p>              It was a couple of minutes later that the man returned and asked for Geralt and Vivienne to follow him. He led them through a back room that was infinitely more cluttered than the front of the shop.  There was a maze of wall racks and shelves that reached the ceiling, and there wasn’t an empty space on any of them.  The three carefully weaved their way through the aisles until, eventually, they came to the back of the room that housed several large, rectangular tables which were placed together in the shape of a U.  The tops of the tables were covered with a variety of bowls, alembics, mortars, pestles, and alchemical ingredients.  Standing behind one of the tables was middle-aged woman with brown hair streaked with gray, pulled back into a pony-tail.  Vivienne wondered if this was the witch that had cast a curse on Dandelion. Because she didn’t look like a witch at all.  She looked like someone’s kindly grandmother.  As the two approached, the woman removed her gloves and then wiped her hands on the front of her apron.</p><p> </p><p>              “Lower your hood, please,” she requested. “I’d like to see with whom I’m speaking.”  After Geralt revealed his face, her eyes widened slightly.  “Geralt of Rivia.”</p><p> </p><p>              “We’ve met?”</p><p> </p><p>              “No. But several years back, when Radovid and the Hierarch still terrorized Novigrad, Triss Merigold and a witcher named Geralt helped several of my friends escape the city through the sewers one night.  They told me he was white-haired with a long scar down his face.  I simply made an educated guess.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Yeah. That was me.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Then, I thank you, Master Witcher. You saved the lives of many of my friends and colleagues.  My name is Annie, by the way.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Well, Annie, it’s a pleasure.  And now I need your help.  On behalf of one of <em>my</em> friends.” Geralt then went on the explain exactly why he was there.</p><p> </p><p>              “Yes, I remember the young woman,” stated the witch once Geralt had finished. “She was quite angry with your friend.  And rightly so, if what she said was true.”</p><p> </p><p>              “I’m not here to defend him. Just here to help him.”</p><p> </p><p>              “And you say the curse is still active.”</p><p> </p><p>              “So says he.  And I know for sure that it was as of two nights ago.”</p><p> </p><p>              “That’s odd.  It was only to last a few weeks.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Really?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Yes, I’m a witch, but I’m not sadistic.  The curse was just supposed to teach him a bit of a lesson and then clear up on its own. The woman who hired me – I don’t remember her name…”</p><p> </p><p>              “Tiffani.”</p><p> </p><p>              “That’s right. Tiffani. Well, Tiffani, I believe, wanted it to be a permanent curse, but, as I said, I’m not so cruel.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Well, then I guess you don’t know your own power because, as I said, it’s still present. And he’s got a wedding coming up this weekend.”</p><p> </p><p>              Annie smirked. “Then, time definitely is of the essence. Okay, I’ll get to work on the cancelation ritual. Give me about half an hour to brew up the potion.”</p><p> </p><p>              “We appreciate it.  How much?” he asked pulling out the coin pouch. </p><p> </p><p>              “Normally, a hundred crowns. But for you – it’s on the house.  For what you did for my friends.”</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt nodded his head. “Appreciate it. We’ll wait up front.”</p><p> </p><p>              After they made it back to the front room of the shop, Vivienne grabbed Geralt’s arm and whispered, “That’s great! That couldn’t have gone any better!”</p><p> </p><p>              He gave a small, half laugh. “I know. I can’t believe it. After what I’ve been through the last couple of days, I was really expecting the worst. Maybe my luck’s starting to change.”</p><p> </p><p>              “I guess it’s a good thing you’re such a hero. Saving all of her friends like you did.”</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt winced. “No. I’m no hero. Triss is the one that saved them.  I just…I just cleared the sewers for them. It was just ordinary witcher’s work. That’s all.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Right,” she replied before giving him a small shake of her head. “And I suppose you think that what you did for me was just ordinary witcher’s work, too?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Well…yeah.”</p><p> </p><p>              She could see the look of confusion on his face, and she desperately wanted him to understand.</p><p> </p><p>              “Geralt, you are <em>not</em> just a witcher.  And what you did for me was <em>not</em> just ‘ordinary.’ Not to me.  You may not view yourself as heroic, but you are to me.  And when this is all over, I bet Dandelion will say the same.”</p><p> </p><p>              She took a step forward so that their faces were only inches apart.  The fear was so thick inside of her that she almost couldn’t breathe. But she’d be damned if she was going to stop now.  She had to tell him how she felt.</p><p> </p><p>              “You’re my hero, Geralt. Don’t you see that?  You gave me life. You saved me.”</p><p> </p><p>              At that point, she reached up and tenderly caressed his cheek with her hand, and the two fragile souls just stared into each other’s eyes. Eventually, Geralt lifted his hand to his face, grabbed her hand in his own, and brought it to his chest. But the entire time, their eyes never left each other. And then, slowly, they began to lean in. Vivienne closed her eyes and lifted her chin – anticipating Geralt’s lip on her hers – when suddenly the bell above the door clanged loudly.  She opened her eyes to see a bald man enter the shop with two armed men following closely behind.   The witcher immediately squeezed her hand and pulled her behind him, shielding her from the men who had just entered.</p><p> </p><p>              “Well, who do I spy with my little eye?” said the grizzled, bald man. “It’s been a long time, Witcher.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Francis,” replied Geralt with a nod.</p><p> </p><p>              “I wasn’t even aware that you were in town. So, what brings you to my Grove?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Heard you cleaned up the place. Thought I’d come and take a look for myself.” He then spread his hands and glanced at his surroundings. “And you know witchers – always in need of alchemical ingredients.  So, I came in here.  Am I not welcome?”</p><p> </p><p>              Bedlam let out a small laugh, but there wasn’t much mirth in it.</p><p> </p><p>              “You? Of course.  Despite your reputation, I’ve always considered you a reasonable bloke. And quite useful.  Some of your friends, though? Not so much.”</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt didn’t say anything to that.</p><p> </p><p>              “And speaking of your friends, Dandelion wouldn’t be here with you, would he?”</p><p> </p><p>              “No. He’s not. Told me that he wasn’t your favorite person these days. Didn’t think he’d be real welcome here.”</p><p> </p><p>              “You wouldn’t lie to me now, would you, Geralt?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Of course, I would, Francis. If the situation required it.”  He then took a step to the side to reveal Vivienne behind him. “But as you can see, it’s just me and my lady friend. No bard.”</p><p> </p><p>              At that, Bedlam smiled. “Then, this is one hell-of-an amazing coincidence.” </p><p> </p><p>              Before, Geralt could respond, Bedlam whistled loudly and shouted, “Theobold, bring him in!”</p><p> </p><p>              A few moments later, the door opened and two armed men pushed Dandelion into the shop.  He no longer was wearing his disguise.</p><p> </p><p>              “You know me, Geralt,” continued Bedlam. “I’ve always protected the Grove. That’s why I constantly have my men patrolling its streets.  And when they spotted this dodgy-looking character in a ridiculous disguise skulking outside my alchemist shop, they got a bit suspicious.  Imagine my surprise when it turned out to be our city’s most famous bard and cabaret owner…and deal-breaker.”</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt shifted his eyes from Bedlam and glanced at Dandelion, who at least had the good sense to look chagrined.</p><p> </p><p>              “So, I’ll ask again Witcher. What are you really doing here?”</p><p> </p><p>              The witcher brought his focus back to the former crime lord.</p><p> </p><p>              “As I said, Francis, I just needed some alchemical supplies.”</p><p> </p><p>              Bedlam turned to the shop-keeper.</p><p> </p><p>              “Is that right, Ronald? This witcher just come in here to buy some herbs?”</p><p> </p><p>              “No, sir, Mr. Bedlam. He asked to speak with Miss Annie.”</p><p> </p><p>              “That so?  About what?”</p><p> </p><p>              “I wasn’t privy to their conversation, Mr. Bedlam.”</p><p> </p><p>“Then, fetch my sister, would you, Ronald?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Right away, sir.”</p><p> </p><p>              A couple of minutes later, the witch entered the front room, where she was interrogated by Bedlam.  The entire time, Geralt fixed Dandelion with an icy stare because he knew how this would end.  It would end how it always ended with him.  Eventually, after all of his questions had been answered to his satisfaction, Bedlam turned back to Geralt, and he had a smile on his face.</p><p> </p><p>              “It seems that everyone here is in such a gracious mood today.  You’re here – apparently doing a favor for a friend.  My sweet sister here is doing you a favor by not charging you to break a curse.  You know - I think I’d like to partake in the generous spirit, as well.  I have no doubt that you’re here on behalf of this dishonorable sack of shit,” he said pointing a thumb over his shoulder at Dandelion. Geralt saw the bard’s face turn red at the insult.  It looked as if he was about to blurt something out so Geralt clenched his jaws and slowly shook his head. “However, because I’m such a forgiving individual, I’m going to allow your deal with Annie to stand.”</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt wasn’t fooled. “On what condition?”</p><p> </p><p>              Bedlam smiled. “On the condition that you do a favor for me.  I just so happen to be in the need of a witcher’s services right now.  I’ve got some monsters I need you to kill. Do that, and I’ll let Annie fulfill her end of the bargain.”</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt exhaled slowly before finally giving a small nod of his head.  He then turned his attention to Dandelion.</p><p> </p><p>              “You just couldn’t help yourself, could you?” he said coldly, to which the bard just sheepishly shrugged. “You really are dumber than you look.”</p><p> </p><p>oOo</p><p> </p><p>              High up in the Redanian mountains, Vivienne was wringing her hands together as she nervously paced about in a clearing in the heavily-wooden forest. She didn’t know whether to be enthralled, terrified, or annoyed. Enthralled because for the last hour she had been watching Geralt at work.  He was on his knees by a small campfire and had a half-dozen pewter bowls around him in a semi-circle.  In addition to brewing an assortment of witcher oils and potions, he was also crafting various bombs and traps.  At first, she’d been too shy to ask what he was doing, but eventually her curiosity got the better of her, and to her surprise, he’d been willing to explain to her in general terms each action he was undertaking. She could tell that he was an absolute master at his craft. For there was no wasted movement.  No hesitations. As soon as he had finished mixing one potion and set it to simmering over the fire, he was immediately onto the next task at hand.  She wondered just how many times in his life he’d done this sort of preparation. </p><p> </p><p>              However, despite how captivated she was by seeing a professional monster-slayer plying his trade, she still wasn’t able to ignore the oily eel of fear that was squirming around inside her. Because she knew that as soon as Geralt was finished with his preparations, he would be heading into the mine to face down one or more unknown monsters.  Monsters that had already killed a dozen miners.  </p><p> </p><p>              Two years past, Francis Bedlam’s bank had loaned the Dagovid Mining Company a substantial amount of money to expand their business. Mr. Dagovid and his sons purchased some property several miles north of Novigrad that they believed contained several untapped veins of copper ore.  At the time, Bedlam had deemed it a smart and safe business decision since the mining company had a history of success.  And for the first year, they continued that success as the new mine yielded a steady flow of copper and, therefore, profits.  That unfortunately changed when, one day about six months ago, monsters were discovered in the new mine and half the company’s miners were killed. Mr. Dagovid put out a witcher contract, but he could find no takers, and thus, the mine stayed closed.  No new ore meant no revenue, and no revenue meant he could no longer make his monthly payments.  Eventually, Bedlam’s patience ran dry, and he called in the loan. When Dagovid couldn’t pay, Bedlam took ownership of the mine, and the monster problem became his.  A problem that he had foisted onto Geralt.  </p><p> </p><p>              When she’d asked the witcher what monsters were in the mines, he’d replied, “Well, based on the account that Bedlam heard from the miners, I’d say that it’s probably some sort of hematophage.”</p><p> </p><p>              “What’s that?”</p><p> </p><p>              “There’s a wide variety of sub-species, but the primary characteristic is that they’re all blood-suckers.  Think of something similar to a tick, but it’s the size of a giant dog and twice as fast.”</p><p> </p><p>              She’d gulped and asked no more questions about hematophages. Hearing that was enough. She had no desire to know any more details of what he might soon be facing.</p><p>
  
</p><p>              To make the whole situation worse, Dandelion had insisted on joining their journey into the Redanian mountains, and he hadn’t stopped chattering and singing the entire time.  For the last hour, he’d been leaning back against a log and scribbling notes into a journal on his knee as he crafted a song tentatively titled, ‘An Ode to Tiffani.’  She’d rolled her eyes when he had laughed out loud upon rhyming the words ‘witch’ and ‘bitch.’ Finally, she’d had enough.</p><p> </p><p>              “How can you be singing at a time like this?” she asked sharply, her eyes blazing.</p><p> </p><p>              Dandelion looked up from his journal, the look of merriment on his face fading away to be replaced by one of confusion.</p><p> </p><p>              “A time like what?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Are you serious?  Your best friend is about to risk his life – because of you, I might add – and you’re just sitting there, singing away as if you had no cares in the world.  What is wrong with you?”</p><p> </p><p>              The bard slowly stood and brushed off his backside before breaking into a patronizing smile.</p><p> </p><p>              “My dear – look about,” he said, motioning his hands to the forest around them. “Listen to the birds, chirping their sweet melodies.  Do you ask them how they can sing at a time like this?  Or how the flowers can bloom?  Or how the sun can shine?  No, you don’t. Because it is their raison d'être. And I – well, I am an artist, my dear.  That is my reason for being.  I could no more cease from crafting poetry and song than…than you could cease being a ravishing beauty.  Now, I admit that I may have had a part to play in our current predicament, but when the muse beckons, one must heed the call – regardless of the circumstances.”</p><p> </p><p>              Vivienne couldn’t believe her ears.  She looked at Geralt to see if he was as dumb-founded as she was, but he didn’t act as if he’d even heard.  His entire focus seemed to be on the witcher potions around him.  So, she turned back to the bard.</p><p> </p><p>              “A<em> part</em> to play? You think you’re only <em>partly</em> to blame for this? Unbelievable. I’ve been all over this continent, and I can honestly say that I’ve never met <em>anyone</em> like you.”</p><p> </p><p>              Suddenly, the bard flashed a beaming smile.</p><p>             </p><p>              “Why thank you!”</p><p> </p><p>              Vivienne shook her head and furrowed her brow.</p><p> </p><p>              “That wasn’t a compliment,” she said before turning her back on him and giving her attention to the witcher. She approached and knelt next to him. “How can you stand him? He’s insufferable,” she whispered.</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt continued to stir the mixture in front of him, but he gave her a quick glance.</p><p> </p><p>              “I’ve learned to ignore him,” he whispered back.</p><p> </p><p>              She nodded, and for the next half hour, she did her best to follow Geralt’s lead and ignore the bard behind her. She was determined to be fully present for Geralt, ready to assist him in any way that he asked.  Though, of course, he never asked.  Which didn’t really surprise her, for how could she ever help a fully-trained witcher with fighting monsters?  That thought made her sigh, and she started wringing her hands together again.</p><p> </p><p>              It wasn’t long – and way before she was ready – that he finished his preparations. He attached a few bombs to a bandolier across his chest, smeared some kind of oil across his silver blade, and carefully poured several potions into metal vials.  He then stood and helped Vivienne to her feet.</p><p> </p><p>              “I want to give you these,” he said, handing her two vials. “They’re potions. One called White Honey and the other called Swallow.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Am I supposed to drink them?”</p><p> </p><p>              “No. Hell, no. They’d probably kill you.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Then, why give them to me?”</p><p> </p><p>              “If I make it out of there -”</p><p>             </p><p>              “If?” she interrupted.  “I thought you were supposed to be the best. Do you really mean…” But she couldn’t finish the thought.</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt just gave a small shrug.</p><p> </p><p>              “The best? That’s debatable. But even if it’s true, it doesn’t really matter. Because no witcher’s ever died in his bed. So, as I was saying, if I make it out of there, but I’m very injured or fall unconscious, then force those potions down my throat.  The white one first, then the orange. But whatever you, don’t touch me. Especially if I’m bleeding.”</p><p> </p><p>              “What? Why?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Because I’m about to take a couple of witcher elixirs.  They’re toxic to normal humans.  So, simply coming into contact with my sweat or blood could…well, it wouldn’t be good for you. Got it?”</p><p> </p><p>              Suddenly, Vivienne couldn’t speak.  The fear inside of her was about to choke her. So, instead, she swallowed hard and nodded.</p><p> </p><p>              The two of them stared at one another for a few moments longer before, finally, Geralt said, “Okay. And no matter what happens, don’t come in after me. If I can’t survive what’s in there, then you sure as hell can’t.” After a small sigh, he added, “Well, I guess I’d better get to it.”</p><p> </p><p>              He was just turning towards the entrance of the mine when she said, “Geralt,” and grabbed his arm. She immediately stepped up close to him, their faces just inches apart.</p><p> </p><p>              “You and I…we’re just getting started so…you’ve got to come back, okay? You’ve got to make it out alive.” </p><p> </p><p>And, then, before the fear could stop her, she put her hand on his shoulder, tip-toed up, and gently brought her lips to his. She closed her eyes and tried to put all the emotions that were swirling inside of her into the kiss, hoping that he would somehow be able to understand what she was feeling for him through that one simple act.  A simple act, but one that held so much meaning for her at the moment.</p><p> </p><p>Suddenly, she heard Dandelion clearing his throat next to them, and a moment later, Geralt ended their kiss.</p><p> </p><p>“I hate to interrupt such a lovely scene, but…daylight is burning.”</p><p> </p><p>She was just about say something scathing when Geralt beat her to it.</p><p> </p><p>“Dandelion, do you remember this morning when I sent you flying through the air with my Aard Sign?”</p><p> </p><p>“How could I not?” he answered, indignation clear in his voice. “That was some fine ‘how do you do?’”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, go away, before I give you a repeat performance.”</p><p> </p><p>Vivienne watched the bard scowl, but he didn’t say a word, simply turning on his heal and storming back to his log.  She turned to Geralt and couldn’t help but smile.</p><p> </p><p>“I thought you said that you’d learned to ignore him.”</p><p> </p><p>“Every man’s got his limitations.”</p><p> </p><p>              He then pulled her close and kissed her deeply.  This one much more passionate than the first. She immediately put her arms around him and hugged him tightly.  But a moment later, he broke off the kiss.</p><p> </p><p>              “When I get back…” he then sighed heavily, “we probably need to talk.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Okay.”   </p><p> </p><p>But she wondered just what he wanted to discuss.  Before she could ask, though, he turned and marched toward the mine.  He paused at the boarded-up entrance and swallowed down the two vials of elixirs.  He hissed and then she saw his entire body shudder, followed by a low growl escaping from his throat.  When he glanced back over his shoulder to look at her, she sucked in her breath.  His skin looked even more pale than it normally did, and the veins in his face and neck were dark and pronounced.  She would have never told him so, but he looked like some kind of demon from the bowels of hell.  He gave a quick nod of his head and then tore away the boards blocking the entrance and stepped into the mine. Two steps later, he disappeared from her sight, completely swallowed up by the darkness.</p><p> </p><p>“Come back to me, Geralt,” she whispered. “You’ve got to come back.”</p><p> </p><p>oOo</p><p> </p><p>              The witcher was a half-mile deep into the mines when he finally heard the monsters.  But he’d seen evidence of them much prior to that.  He’d come across numerous corpses – both human and non - that had borne the marking of a savage, hematophage attack.  The blood-thirsty beasts had six spider-like legs, with the first two ending in sharp spines. To make matters worse, there were special glands connected to the spines that contained a powerful numbing agent. One scratch from the spines was enough to paralyze an adult-sized human within a couple of minutes.  After that, the monsters would sink their long fangs into a soft part of the body – the neck, the groin, the armpit – and gorge on their victim’s blood.  He also knew that they had an uncanny ability to sense the exact moment to stop drinking in order to keep their prey from expiring.  Brother Adalbert’s bestiary indicated that a victim could remain alive for up to four days before finally succumbing to the monster’s toxins and blood-letting. After that, all of the corpse’s organs and most of the flesh would be devoured.  Earlier, when speaking with Vivienne, Geralt had purposefully kept all of those details to himself.  For her fear had been obvious.  He’d had no desire to add fuel to it.</p><p> </p><p>              As he crept down the mineshaft towards the monstrous sounds, he stopped every ten yards or so and set up an explosive, trip-wired device on the ground. If he had to beat a hasty retreat, then he definitely wanted it covered. Eventually, he arrived at the end of the shaft, which opened up into a large cavern with stalagmites scattered about the floor and stalactites clinging to the ceiling. He paused where he was and took in his surroundings.  He could detect the sounds of a monster feeding, but when he scanned the interior, he couldn’t see his prey.  It had to be deeper in the cavern, or it was hidden by one of the larger stalagmites.</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt brought his sword in front of him and gripped the handle with both hands. He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply.  Two years prior, when he had retired from the Path, he had hoped that he’d never have to wield his witcher swords ever again.  But, now, with the blade back in hand and the witcher potions coursing through his veins, he felt as if he’d just slipped on a pair of old, comfortable boots.  Boots that fit his feet perfectly.  His muscles were twitching with power, just waiting to be unleashed in a whirlwind of brutality.  Despite that, though, he also felt completely calm.  As if he was almost in a trance-like state.  He’d always been amazed by the dichotomy.  That there could be both a tempest and a stillness inside of him at the same time. He didn’t know if other witchers felt the same, but he’d eventually learned that that’s what being a professional witcher was for him – a state of controlled fury.  And he was feeling it once again. With that thought, he opened his eyes, exhaled slow, and stepped into the cavern.</p><p> </p><p>              A few moments later, he moved past a large stalagmite and paused at the sight before him. He was looking at the largest hematophage he’d ever seen.  He’d told Vivienne that they were tick-shaped and about the size of an enormous dog, but the one in front of him was a large as a bear. It was devouring a girby – a worm-like, underground creature that was a frequent victim of various predators – and it hadn’t detected the witcher’s approach. Immediately, Geralt signed his Quen shield, skipped forward, and sliced his blade into the unsuspecting beast’s thick hide.  The monster screeched and swung its forelegs in an attack, but the witcher was no longer there, having side-stepped out of the way.  He cast Igni flames at the beast, and it screeched again as its flesh caught fire.  As it was writhing in pain, Geralt hopped forward and brought down a vicious two-handed strike near its neck.  Blood gushed forth from the creature’s neck spraying the front of his clothes, and he knew that he’d struck a fatal blow.  It just might take a few minutes before the monster finally died.  He skipped backwards a few paces, giving himself some room, and that’s when he heard a noise from above.  He looked upward and his eyes widened.</p><p> </p><p>              “Not good,” he growled upon seeing a half-dozen more hematophages clinging to the ceiling of the cave.</p><p> </p><p>              As one, they all dropped to the cavern floor and attacked at once. Geralt instantly knew that his simple contract had just turned dire, and a moment later the cavern turned into chaos.  He immediately cast an Igni flame at the nearest monster and tossed a Dancing Star bomb at another before whirling between two others, his blade slicing through both.  But as he was coming out of his pirouette, he heard his Quen shield break and a moment later he felt pain across his back.  He quickly rolled away and threw another bomb at the nearest monster, its screams of pain echoing through the cavern as it caught fire.  He reached his right hand over his shoulder, and he cursed at what he felt.  The leather of his witcher jacket was torn and slick with blood. He knew he needed to neutralize the monster’s toxins as quickly as possible.</p><p> </p><p>              “Need a White Honey,” he said to himself but he had no time to reach for it as three hematophages were approaching him from all sides.   </p><p> </p><p>              He glanced past the beast that was directly in front of him to see the entrance of the mineshaft.  He had to get there – and to his traps - if he was going to survive, but he knew his chances of making it there were slim. As the monsters closed in, he cast another Quen and growled out, “Show me what you got.”</p><p> </p><p>He then tossed his final bomb at the monster on the left before spinning towards the other two, his sword a blur around him.</p><p> </p><p>oOo</p><p> </p><p>              “I’m sorry,” said Vivienne. “I shouldn’t have spoken to you so harshly earlier. I was just…I’m scared.”</p><p> </p><p>              She and Dandelion stood near the entrance of the mine. On any other day, she would have been enjoying the scenery. The noon-day sun shining high overhead.  The cool, autumn wind rustling the leaves of the trees.  The birds singing sweetly around them.  But she was noticing none of that.  Instead, the two of them were simply staring into the darkness of the mine.</p><p> </p><p>              “It’s okay, my dear.  It’s understandable.”</p><p> </p><p>              She glanced at the bard.</p><p> </p><p>              “You’re not nervous? Knowing what he’s about to face?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Nah. It’ll be fine. He always comes through,” he answered, but the tremor in his voice betrayed him.  She’d heard it.  And he couldn’t keep the worry from his face either.  And, suddenly, she liked the man a whole lot more than before.</p><p> </p><p>              An instant later, she heard the sound of hideous screeching echoing out of the mine, and she immediately reached out and grasped Dandelion’s hand.</p><p> </p><p>              “What was that?!? Was that the monster?”</p><p> </p><p>              The bard smiled weakly. “I’m sure that was the sound of victory, my dear.  No doubt it was the vile beast’s death throes.”</p><p> </p><p>              He’d just finished speaking when they heard an explosion coming from somewhere deep within the mine.  This was immediately followed by more monstrous screeching, and suddenly, Vivienne was overcome with sense of terrified helplessness.  She didn’t know what to do. Logic told her that she shouldn’t enter the mines.  For she had absolutely no skills in battling monsters.  But her emotions told her that she simply couldn’t stand there doing nothing when Geralt was in danger. She let go of Dandelion’s hand and began feverishly wringing hers together again. She was having trouble breathing, and she could feel the tears welling up in her eyes.  But through all of that, she somehow heard a bird chirping nearby, and, without even thinking, she answered. A never-before-spoken sound bubbled up from deep inside of her and escaped her mouth.  And it was the sound of a bird singing. </p><p> </p><p>              She closed her eyes and simply let her emotions pour out of her – emotions that were manifesting themselves into an oriole’s call.  She didn’t know for how long this went on, but eventually she ran out of breath, and when she opened her eyes, she saw dozens and dozens of birds flying into the entrance of the mine.</p><p> </p><p>              She blinked a couple of times, as if coming out of a trance, and then turned to look at Dandelion.  He’d taken a couple of steps backward from her and was peering at her with a furrowed brow.</p><p> </p><p>              “What did you just do?” </p><p> </p><p>              “I…I don’t know.”</p><p> </p><p>              “What…what are you? A druid?”</p><p> </p><p>              “I…I…” But she didn’t know how to answer.  At that moment, she didn’t know exactly what she was, and she without a doubt had no idea as to what she’d just done.  All she knew was that whatever had come out of her mouth was primal and instinctual.</p><p> </p><p>              She was about to speak when, suddenly, there were more monstrous screams emanating from the mine.  A few moments later, more explosions could be heard – these louder than the ones before.  And, then, all went quiet.  Shortly, the birds flew back out of the mine and dispersed back into the woods, but the witcher didn’t show with them. One minute turned to five and then to ten, and still all was quiet.  Eventually, she turned to Dandelion.</p><p> </p><p>              “Do you think we should go in?”</p><p> </p><p>              Dandelion swallowed hard, staring straight ahead. Finally, he glanced at Vivienne and nodded.</p><p> </p><p>              “Let’s go. But let’s find some kind of weapon first.”</p><p> </p><p>              He immediately looked around him.</p><p> </p><p>              “What are you searching for?”</p><p> </p><p>              “I don’t know. A big stick. A rock. Something.  I’m not going in there with just a quill in my hand.  It may indeed be mightier than the sword, but not when facing down monsters.”</p><p> </p><p>              Vivienne was just about to begin a search as well when she glanced at the mine entrance, and her eyes went wide.  For there was something making its way out of the darkness.  And then she saw what it was. Or rather who.</p><p> </p><p>              “Geralt!” she yelled.</p><p> </p><p>              She ran towards him but stopped several paces short.  He was covered from head to toe in what looked to be monster guts and blood.  He held his left arm pressed close to his side and was walking with a severe limp.  In his right hand, he carried a netting that held three giant monster heads.  Vivienne shuddered at the sight.  Each head was covered in thick, bristly hairs; possessed a half-dozen black, doll-like eyes; and had long fangs protruding from its maw.</p><p> </p><p>              “Those birds,” he asked through clenched jaws. “Was that your doing?”</p><p> </p><p>              She nodded.</p><p> </p><p>              “Then…you saved my life. They came just in time.”</p><p> </p><p>              He then winced.</p><p> </p><p>“Are you okay?” she asked. Despite him being covered in filth, she wanted to reach out to him, but she remembered his warnings earlier. That he might be toxic to the touch.</p><p> </p><p>“I…I think I need…” But before he could complete his thought, his eyes rolled back into his head, and he fell unconscious to the forest floor.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>              “Just how self-absorbed can the man be? He didn’t even say ‘thank you,’’’ said Vivienne as she glared at Dandelion galloping down the mountain trail on the back of Pegasus.</p><p>              After determining that the witcher was actually going to survive his injuries, the troubadour had snatched up the monster trophies from the ground and rushed to his horse.</p><p>              “You’ll be able to take care of yourself without me, right?” he’d asked.</p><p>              “I don’t know, Dandelion,” Geralt had replied, after a slight roll of his eyes. “You’ve been such an<em> invaluable</em> asset to me so far.”</p><p>But the bard hadn’t even bothered to wait for Geralt’s response before yelling out, “Yee-haw!” and spurring his mount towards Novigrad.</p><p>              Geralt winced in pain as he pushed his torso upright, leaning back against the large log that had been Dandelion’s resting place for most of the day.</p><p>              “Yeah, well, he’s probably just anxious to finally get that curse broken. I’m sure you can understand that, right?”</p><p>              Suddenly, her facial features softened, for she did remember what it was like.</p><p>              “Yes, I can,” she answered softly. To this day, she still regretted how she’d sometimes treated people back when she’d lived with her curse.  Particularly how she’d treated the young, love-sick knight, Guillaume de Launfal. She had no doubt that many people had viewed her as a bit of a shrew - cold and unapproachable. Most had probably thought her aloofness was caused by arrogance when the truth was that it had been her fear and insecurity that had kept people at a distance.  She thought that, perhaps once Dandelion was no longer cursed, how he treated people – especially Geralt - would change.  Or, at least she hoped he did. Regardless, she determined that she needed to be more understanding and compassionate until then.</p><p>              “Plus,” he added with a small smile.  “I’m just grateful to finally have some peace and quiet. I forgot just how much the man loves the sound of his own voice.”</p><p> </p><p>              “That he certainly does,” she agreed.  From hearing stories about Dandelion from Anna Henrietta, Vivienne had no doubt that that particular aspect of the bard would not change – even after his curse was finally lifted.  “But enough about him. How are you feeling?”</p><p> </p><p>              The witcher groaned as he adjusted his body. He was still holding his left arm close to his side. He was also still completely covered in monster blood and guts.</p><p> </p><p>              “I’m a bit of a mess. But I’ll live…” He peered deeply into her eyes. “Thanks to you.”</p><p> </p><p>              Vivienne blushed but never took her eyes off his.</p><p> </p><p>              “I simply poured the potions down your throat as you instructed me to. That’s all.”</p><p> </p><p>              “No,” said Geralt with a shake of his head. “That’s not all.  I thank you for that, too. But I’m not talking about the potions. I’m talking about you sending down those birds.  I was in a world of trouble down there. Surrounded. Out of bombs.  The monsters’ toxins running through my veins. I probably had only a minute or two more before paralysis would have set in. Then, the birds flew into the cavern and began swarming the monsters.  Distracted them. Gave me just enough time to down a White Honey and flee towards the mine shaft, where I had a bunch of explosive traps set. So, thank you. You saved my life, Vivienne.”</p><p>             </p><p>              “But I didn’t. I didn’t even know what I was doing. I was just standing there in front of the entrance, listening to what was going on down below. Completely terrified. Frozen. I didn’t know what to do. I just knew that I somehow wanted to help you. And, suddenly, this sound came bursting out of my mouth. And the next thing I know, birds are flying into the mine. What? What are smiling about?”</p><p> </p><p>              “The irony of life. Your curse…turned out to be a blessing after all. At least today it did.”</p><p> </p><p>              That thought brought a small smile to her face, but it quickly disappeared as she bit her lip.</p><p> </p><p>              “But how? Does this…does this mean I’m still cursed?”</p><p> </p><p>              “I honestly don’t know, Vivienne. I wish that I could tell you that you are completely free of it.  But I just don’t know. Your curse was unique. You were touched by magic for a <em>long</em> time. Even while you were being formed in the womb. So, I just don’t know, but there’s no doubt that there’s some residual trace of it still inside of you.  Kind of like how a woman’s perfume lingers, even after she leaves the room. You couldn’t have spoken to those birds today otherwise.”</p><p> </p><p>              “But what does it all mean?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Curses…the Power…” he said with a shake of his head. “I don’t think anyone <em>truly</em> understands it.  Not fully. Not even the greatest sorcerers from Ban Ard or Aretuza. Because, ultimately, it’s Chaos.  It doesn’t want to be understood.  And it sure as hell doesn’t want to be controlled.  That’s why I don’t really trust it. It’s why I don’t like portals.”</p><p> </p><p>              “So, then…what I did today…speaking to the birds. I should never attempt that again, no?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Well, that’s entirely up to you, but you should be fine.”</p><p> </p><p>              “<em>Should</em> be?  But you just said that you don’t trust it. So, should I mistrust it, too? Never use it?”</p><p> </p><p>              “I do mistrust it. But I still use it.  I tap into the Power whenever I cast my Signs. The medallion around my neck harnesses it as well.  And I’m not afraid of using it because I earned it. And you have too.”</p><p> </p><p>              “What? Earned it? I don’t understand.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Look, I’m no expert on any of this. I told you that. But I have learned a few things about the Power. As I said, it doesn’t like to be controlled, harnessed. To do so exacts a serious toll. You have to pay a tremendous price if you want to use it.  But I paid that price.  The hell I went through to become a witcher…the mutations, the experiments…you can’t even imagine. And <em>you </em>paid the price, too. The curse you lived with was the cost. So, now, whatever magic is inside you, the magic that allows you to commune with birds, that’s yours.  You earned it, and you shouldn’t be afraid to use it.”</p><p>             </p><p>              Vivienne nodded her head.</p><p> </p><p>              “But if I wanted to learn how to do more than that? If I wanted to learn other types of magic? Spells?”</p><p> </p><p>              “You’d either discover that you don’t have the ability. Or, if you do have the ability, then you’d have to go through more hell…pay an even greater price if you wanted to use it.”</p><p> </p><p>              “I don’t think I want to do that.”</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt let out a small laugh.</p><p> </p><p>              “I don’t blame you. Neither do I.”</p><p> </p><p>              His laughter had caused him to grimace. She had seen it.</p><p> </p><p>              “You’re still hurt.  What can I do for you?”</p><p> </p><p>              “I probably need to suture my wounds. Could you bring me my saddlebags, please?”</p><p> </p><p>              She immediately grabbed his gear that he’d left by the now-cold campsite and placed them by his side.  A few moments later, he pulled out a small wooden box, and from that, he retrieved a curved, metal needle and several long strands of what looked to be animal hair. After he pushed his trousers down to his knees, Vivienne quipped, “What? No thong?”</p><p> </p><p>              He looked up at her and smirked.  “It’s being laundered. Otherwise, who knows?”</p><p> </p><p>              She didn’t believe that for a second and was about to respond when she saw his leg. She couldn’t keep from gasping. The wound there was about six inches long and quite deep. </p><p>             </p><p>              “That looks awful,” she said. “But it’s not bleeding very much. How is that possible?”</p><p> </p><p>              “It’s one of the <em>blessings</em> of the witcher mutations. One of those blessings that I earned. We heal much better and quicker than a normal human. That, and the Swallow potion I took.  It speeds up the healing and recovery process.”</p><p> </p><p>              He threaded the eye of his needle and immediately began stitching up the wound.  And, once again, Vivienne was amazed by his skill.  She thought that he may, in fact, be more adept with a needle in his hand than a sword.  But, of course, having seen his body the night before at the Passiflora, she could understand why he’d be so skilled.  He’d clearly had ridiculous amounts of practice suturing wounds over the course of his life.  And, now, he was probably going to have more scars to add to his collection, and all because Dandelion hadn’t been able to keep himself from meddling back at the Grove - despite the witcher’s clear instructions not to do so.  Thinking about that brought a small scowl to her face.</p><p> </p><p>              “Can I ask you a question, or do you need to concentrate of what you’re doing?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Nah, I could do this blindfolded. What’s your question?”</p><p> </p><p>              “How exactly is it that you and Dandelion became friends?”</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt paused mid-stitch and looked up at her with a small smile.</p><p> </p><p>              “Why do you ask?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Well…he’s your friend so I don’t want to insult him, but…”</p><p> </p><p>              “Go ahead. You can say it.”</p><p> </p><p>              “He’s just…you and he seem <em>so</em> different. I only saw the two of you interact with one another for a few hours today, but he<em> did</em> seem to get on your nerves quite a lot.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Yeah, he is a bit of an acquired taste. Trust me, he and I didn’t exactly hit it off at first.”</p><p> </p><p>              “So, then, how did you become friends?”</p><p> </p><p>              “He did me a favor.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Must have a been quite the favor.”</p><p> </p><p>              “It was,” said Geralt with small nod. “He saved my life.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Wait, <em>he</em> saved…that foppish blowhard saved your life?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Hard to believe, I know. But more than that, he actually risked his own life when he did it.  That’s not something you ever forget.  And it weighs pretty heavy in the scales when you balance it out against all of his irritating nonsense.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Okay, I’d agree. But, surely, over the course of your friendship, you’ve saved him as well.  And I don’t just mean today.”</p><p> </p><p>              “True. I have. Many times, in fact. But with friends, you don’t keep count.  Or, at least, I don’t. Not with something like that.”</p><p> </p><p>              Vivienne nodded her head because she knew he was right.  She may have technically saved his life an hour earlier, but despite that, she still felt as if she ‘owed’ him for what he’d done for her back in Toussaint.  And she knew that she always would.</p><p> </p><p>              “Plus, it’s more than just that,” he added. “I’ve lived a long time, and I can probably count on one hand the number of humans that I would actually deem to be a good friend.  Virtually all of my friendships are – or were – with outsiders.  With those that normal humans don’t consider to fit into <em>proper</em> society. Other witchers, magic users, elves, dwarves.  Hell, even a few monsters – believe it or not.  And it’s because most folk have never wanted anything to do with me. Not really.  I mean, sure, they’ll use me when they absolutely need me, for my witcher skills, but other than that? No. But Dandelion? From the very beginning, I never got the sense that he considered me…lesser.  He’s always treated me like he does everybody else.”</p><p> </p><p>              He then smiled.</p><p> </p><p>              “Now, one could argue that – what did you call him? A foppish blowhard?  One could argue that the foppish blowhard is so narcissistic that he doesn’t treat anyone well, and that may be true.  But, regardless, he’s never treated me differently because I’m a witcher. And that goes a long way in my book.”</p><p> </p><p>              Vivienne nodded her head and smiled.</p><p> </p><p>              “Thank you, Geralt. That explains a lot. And I understand completely.”</p><p> </p><p>              “That right?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Well, maybe not completely, because no one ever treated me differently – like an outsider. Because no one knew I was cursed.  But I knew.  I <em>felt</em> like an outsider, regardless of whether anyone else knew it or not.”</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt didn’t say anything to that. He just nodded in understanding.</p><p> </p><p>              “Do you remember that first night that we spoke?” she asked. “In the glade with the pond, near the palace?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Of course. You thought I’d come there to kill you.”</p><p> </p><p>              “But you told me that you’d come to help me instead. When I asked you why I should trust you, do you remember what you said?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Vaguely…but no. Not really.”</p><p> </p><p>              “You told me I could trust you because the Duchess trusted you. And because breaking curses was – how did you say? Your butter and bread?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Bread and butter.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Right. But I cared little for either of those answers. They meant nothing to me. However, you said something else. Something else that made me believe you. Do you remember?”</p><p>             </p><p>              Geralt swallowed hard before answering.</p><p> </p><p>              “Yeah. I said, ‘Because I’m a freak, too.’”</p><p> </p><p>              Vivienne nodded. “It was then that I knew…that I could trust you. I remember looking into your eyes when you proclaimed that. And I could tell that you meant it.”</p><p> </p><p>              “I did.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Do you still?”</p><p> </p><p>              He simply nodded.</p><p> </p><p>              “Because you are a witcher?”</p><p> </p><p>              He nodded again.</p><p> </p><p>              “But you are retired, no?  You told me that you own a vineyard. So, you are no longer a witcher, correct?”</p><p> </p><p>              He gave a small shake of his head.</p><p> </p><p>              “The word’s got two meanings. One’s a profession. The other’s a state of being. So, yes, I am retired from the Path.  I no longer kill monsters for coin.  But I’ll <em>always</em> be a mutant.  No matter where I go or what I do.”</p><p> </p><p>              He then gave a small shrug as a wistful smile came to his face.</p><p> </p><p>              “But…that’s okay. I accepted that fact a long time ago.” Before she could say anything else, he cleared his throat and continued, “I better tend to these other wounds.” </p><p> </p><p>              He broke eye-contact with her and removed his witcher jacket.  Underneath, his white shirt was stained blood-red along his side and back.  He took it off to reveal two wounds that looked similar to the one on his thigh, and Vivienne swallowed hard at the sight.  Up close and in the light of day, the scars on his body were even more noticeable than they’d been in the dimly-lit Passiflora the night before.  She slowly shook her head. How could one man endure so much trauma and still be alive?</p><p> </p><p>Geralt immediately began stitching up the laceration that cut across his ribcage, and it only took him a minute before he was done. At that point, he reached over his left shoulder towards the wound on his back. He tried several times to stitch it up, but given its location, it was impossible for him to reach it with both hands, and she didn’t think there was any way that he’d be able to properly suture the gash closed with just his right.  She heard him sigh in frustration, and her heart broke for him - not only for the physical injuries that he’d sustained but also for what he’d just told her. And even more so – from the look in his eyes when he’d spoken those words.  It was the same look she’d seen in that magical meadow two years past when he’d called himself a freak.</p><p> </p><p>              And she realized then that there were actually two Geralts. There was the Geralt who was the professional witcher.  The master swordsman. The monster-slayer who feared nothing and no one. A man who faced down all dangers.  She’d seen first-hand that Geralt in action. Two years ago, in the Toussaint tourney, she’d watched him with a blade in his hand.  He’d killed a shaelmaar while barely breaking a sweat. He’d dueled and defeated the best knights that the Continent could offer, and he’d done so easily.  That Geralt possessed an undeniable calmness. He exuded both incredible maturity and wisdom. That Geralt carried an air of absolute confidence in himself and his skills. And rightly so.</p><p> </p><p>              But she had learned over the past two days that there was a second Geralt, as well.  The man underneath the witcher armor. The man without the swords on his back.  The man who viewed himself as lesser, as a freak and an outsider.  The man who had trouble accepting compliments, who didn’t think he deserved nice gifts – like the vodka she’d bought him - and who would never, ever consider himself to be heroic.  That Geralt was a gentle, injured soul - full of insecurity and self-doubt. She knew it was true, for she felt the same, and so it was easy to see those same qualities in him.</p><p>             </p><p>              She rose from where she was sitting and approached him, kneeling by his side.</p><p> </p><p>              “Here – give me the needle. I’ll stitch up your back for you.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Are…are you sure?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Of course,” she said with a smile. “I was trained at an early age to be a lady-in-waiting, and learning to embroider was part of that training. For some reason, that’s a desired skill in noble houses. Stitching up a wound shouldn’t be too different.”</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt smiled at her response, but it quickly disappeared.</p><p> </p><p>              “No. That’s not what I meant. I wasn’t questioning your skills. I’m just…I’m filthy. Covered in blood and guts. Are you sure you want to touch me?”</p><p> </p><p>              After a moment, she stood and retrieved the canteen that had been left by the campfire.  She returned and then bent down to grab the knife at his waist.</p><p> </p><p>              “What are you doing?” he asked.</p><p> </p><p>              But she didn’t answer. She simply pulled the hem of her skirt up and cut off a long piece of fabric from the bottom. She knelt down, straddling his uninjured leg and carefully placed the knife back in its scabbard. Their faces were now only a little more than a foot apart. She soaked the balled-up cloth with the water from the canteen, slowly brought it up to his face, and began to carefully wash the blood and grime from his skin.  Across his forehead, down his cheeks, along both sides of his nose. She took special notice of the scars, particularly the long one that ran down the left side of his face.  She again wondered at just how much pain the man must have experienced in his life, and her heart went out to him even more. After a bit, she wrung out the fabric and soaked it again with more water.</p><p> </p><p>              “Close your eyes,” she whispered.</p><p> </p><p>              But he didn’t. He simply stared into hers for several, long seconds.</p><p> </p><p>              “Don’t you trust me?” she asked.</p><p> </p><p>              The two looked at each a moment longer until, finally, he swallowed hard and gave a small nod before closing his eyes.  She gently cleaned the filth from his eyelids before moving to his chin. And, finally, she came to his lips.  By then, he had re-opened his eyes and was staring at her again. She tenderly dabbed the cloth at his lips several times before letting her hand fall to her side. </p><p> </p><p>              “There. Now, you’re all clean.”</p><p> </p><p>Her heart was thundering in her chest as they both started to lean in for a kiss when, suddenly, he lifted his hand and placed it along her collarbone, stopping her advance.</p><p> </p><p>              “We’d better not, Vivienne,” he said in a low voice. “It may not be safe.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Why not?” she whispered.</p><p> </p><p>              He breathed in deeply and continued to stare into her eyes before answering.</p><p> </p><p>              “Because…” He then swallowed. “Because of the witcher potions. They may not have dissipated from my system yet.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Are you sure?”</p><p> </p><p>              He nodded. “Let’s give it a bit more time. Okay?”</p><p> </p><p>              Vivienne wanted to say, ‘No,’ and lean in and kiss him anyway.  But she respected him too much for that.  And, suddenly, like a flash of lightning, things became crystal clear for her. Whatever she wanted from Great – and the truth was that she still wasn’t sure herself – then it was going to be nothing like the romantic fairytales that she’d read as a girl.  There would be no dashing knight pursuing her and sweeping her off her feet.  If anything, she would be the one who had to pursue.  Because she saw now the truth - that Geralt was afraid.  She was almost certain that he was attracted to her. Their kiss before he entered the mine was proof of that.  So, if he was reluctant now, it had to be due to fear. She didn’t think there was any other explanation. She completely understood his feelings, because she felt the same.  In fact, she was terrified.  For pursuing him meant that she was opening herself up to rejection.  But she kept hearing her cousin’s words in her head, <em>‘Life’s too short to play games. Too short to live with regrets.</em>’  So, she decided right then and there that ‘No regrets’ would be her new mantra. To strengthen her resolve she even repeated it to herself. ‘<em>No regrets, Vivienne. You may only have five more years to live…so no regrets.</em>’ And then she gave him a warm smile.</p><p> </p><p>              “Of course, Geralt. If you say we need more time, then that’s what we need. I trust you.”</p><p> </p><p>oOo</p><p> </p><p>              A moment after Geralt and Vivienne stepped into the Chameleon, he heard Zoltan’s laughter booming across the main room.  The dwarf sauntered over from the bar, shaking his head and with a big smile on his face.</p><p> </p><p>              “You’ve already been in pig shit and dog piss. So, what was it this time? Another zeugl in the sewers?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Hematophages.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Oooh, those are nasty buggers.”</p><p> </p><p>               “You don’t say.”</p><p> </p><p>              The dwarf chuckled.</p><p> </p><p>              “Well, at least you’re keeping our laundress busy. I hope you’re tipping her well.”</p><p> </p><p>              “You know me.” He then looked around and lowered his voice. “Dandelion been in yet?”</p><p> </p><p>              Zoltan’s eyes widened a bit. “No, he hasn’t. You’re expecting him?”</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt nodded. “Must’ve got hung up in the Grove. He should be here at any time.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Huzzah! That’s great news, pal! So, where’s he been?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Into trouble, as usual.”</p><p> </p><p>              “But you got him out? Well, you can tell me all about it after you’ve cleaned up. ViLula!”.</p><p> </p><p>              “I’m already on it,” the chambermaid answered from the other side of the room. “Head to the bath house, Master Witcher. You know the way. I’ll be there shortly.”</p><p> </p><p>              A half hour later, washed and in his last set of clean clothes, Geralt sipped on his ale, as he waited for Lady Vivienne to come down the stairs and into the main room. She’d agreed to meet him for a late lunch, and while he waited and nursed his drink, he let his mind drift back over the events of the day.</p><p> </p><p>              After Vivienne had stitched up the wound on his back, they had made their way back to Novigrad.  Unlike Dandelion, though, they had been in no rush to return, and on the slow ride down the mountain, the two of them had taken the time to get to know one another better – sharing stories from their pasts.  He’d asked her about her formative years back in Toussaint. About her family and friends. About her time in Duchess Anna Henrietta’s court.  He’d noticed that she’d had a light in her eyes and a smile on her lips when she’d spoken about her family and about her childhood experiences on the small, family estate in the south of the duchy.   Her childhood had obviously been nothing like his, for she’d clearly been doted on, but he didn’t envy her of that.  In fact, knowing that she’d been so loved and cared for had made him smile.  </p><p> </p><p>When she’d queried him about his past, he’d done his best to avoid his childhood years – simply brushing over them in some broad strokes.  The day and mood were both so bright and sunny that he’d been loath to spoil it by sharing any details of his decade at Kaer Morhen. He knew that recounting the events of that time in his life probably would have been a conversation killer and would have done nothing but elicit pity from her, which was the last thing he wanted. Therefore, he’d purposefully recalled only humorous moments and fun adventures from his decades on the Path. </p><p> </p><p>And, of course, he’d spoken a lot about Ciri – the woman who would one day become empress of the entire Nilfgaardian Empire.  He’d admitted to Vivienne that it was still difficult for him to imagine her in that role. Not because he thought she didn’t have the ability to handle the position, but rather because, in his heart, he still viewed her as the snot-nosed little girl he’d first met in the Brokilon Forest.  The little girl that he still considered to be his daughter. In truth, he’d probably spoken to Vivienne more about Ciri than he had about himself.  For the entire last hour of the journey back to the city had been taken up by him telling her the story of Ciri’s adventure versus the Wild Hunt.</p><p> </p><p>“I never told her, never let on, but I was terrified the entire time,” he’d admitted at the end of the story. “Not for me. But for her. Afraid something bad would happen to her. But she was hell-bent on facing them down.  She always was so damn stubborn. But courageous, too. And I’ve always been proud of her for that.  Of course, I wasn’t too pleased when she told me she was going to confront the White Frost.”</p><p> </p><p> “Why not?” Vivienne had asked.</p><p> </p><p>“Because I thought it was foolish. There was no need to risk her life against it. Taking on the Wild Hunt – that made sense.  I understood that, because they were on her heels and would’ve never let her be.  But the White Frost?  That wasn’t her fight.”</p><p> </p><p>At that point, Vivienne had looked at him with a small smile on her face.</p><p> </p><p>“So, you believe she was foolish to risk her life for others?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, I do.”</p><p> </p><p>“Geralt,” she’d said with a laugh, “Who do you think she learned that from?” When he didn’t answer, she’d continued. “Sounds to me like she’s quite…<em>heroic</em>. Wouldn’t you say?”</p><p> </p><p>At first, he hadn’t bothered to answer that question either because he knew what she was implying. He knew what she wanted him to admit, but he just couldn’t bring himself to do it.  He wasn’t even sure he knew why, but the idea of someone calling him heroic made him feel more uncomfortable than when someone called him a mutant freak. Finally, he broke the silence.</p><p> </p><p>“Alright. I’ll admit I’m heroic…” He saw a smile come to her face. “…just as soon as you admit you are, as well.” And quickly the smile disappeared.</p><p> </p><p>“Me?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah. You. You saved my life today. Makes you a hero in my book.”</p><p> </p><p>“No, no. We already discussed this. I didn’t even know what I was doing. That can’t be heroic.”</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t agree, but even if I did, then, there’s last night at the Passiflora. You saved me from a complete disaster then.”</p><p> </p><p>“That wasn’t heroic.”</p><p> </p><p>“It was to me. Not all heroes carry swords. And, sometimes, a kind gesture is more powerful and makes a bigger difference than any blade ever could.”</p><p> </p><p>Vivienne grinned. “Fine, you win. Because how can I argue with that? I’m living proof…as you chose to break my curse instead of drawing your sword against me.”</p><p> </p><p>Recalling that exchange – and the entirety of his afternoon with Vivienne – brought a small smile to his face. For he couldn’t believe how easy their conversation had been. If truth be told, they’d only known each other less than a week’s time in total – a couple of days back in Toussaint and, now, another two here in Novigrad.  But, despite that, he already felt incredibly close to the young woman. He’d respected from before – due to her integrity and decency in choosing the ‘hard’ path of the egg ritual in breaking her curse as opposed to having it transferred to someone else.  But, now, he felt more than just respect for her.  For these past two days had revealed that she was one of the most kind-hearted and generous people he’d ever met.  And if all of that weren’t enough, there was the fact that she truly had saved his life back in the mountains. Even if it had been nothing but a magical accident, he knew that her motivations behind the act were genuine. She had simply wanted to help him. Because she cared for him. That was obvious, now.  Even to a thick-skulled, romantically-clueless fool like himself.</p><p> </p><p>Geralt sighed with that realization because he knew what he needed to do. What he should have done back up at Bedlam’s mine. It wasn’t something he was skilled at, and he knew it was going to be incredibly uncomfortable for him, but he knew they needed to discuss – well, ‘them.’ He needed to find out exactly what she wanted with him, what her expectations were. Because the last thing he wanted to do was to hurt her in any way, and the truth was that he had an absolutely lousy record at relationships. His past was littered with broken commitments and hurt feelings, and he cared about her too much to subject her to his nonsense. The kindest act that he could probably do for the woman would be to just end things now, before he made a hash of things.</p><p> </p><p> And it was at that moment that Geralt looked up and saw Vivienne walking down the stairs and into the main room, and his breath caught in his throat – all of his previous thoughts suddenly pushed to the back of his mind. She had changed her clothes, and he could also tell that she’d washed her face and brushed out her hair.  He thought she was absolutely stunning, and he stood for her when she approached the table.</p><p> </p><p>“Hi,” she said</p><p> </p><p>“Hello to you. You…you look great.”</p><p> </p><p>“Thank you, Geralt. That’s sweet. You’ve cleaned up nicely yourself.”</p><p> </p><p>At that point, they simply stood there staring at each other for a bit. After a moment, Geralt finally came to his senses and cleared his throat.</p><p> </p><p>“Here, allow me,” he said as he pulled out her chair.</p><p> </p><p>“Whatever is cooking back there, smells incredible. I’m starving.”</p><p> </p><p>“I figured. So, I already ordered.”</p><p> </p><p>“How do you know what I like?”</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t worry. I got it covered.  You may sing like a bird, but I hope you don’t eat like one, too,” he joked.</p><p> </p><p>She blushed slightly at that but couldn’t help but smiling. “Just wait and see.”</p><p> </p><p>And, as if on cue, a second later several bar staff – along with Zoltan - arrived with their food, covering the table top with bowls of Hunter’s stew, platters of pierogis, cups of Rosol chicken soup, and plates of kielbasa, cabbage, and potato pancakes.  A fresh loaf of bread and a couple tankards of cider were placed right in the middle of it all.</p><p> </p><p>Vivienne took it all in with eyebrows raised.</p><p> </p><p>“Is this everything on today’s menu?” she asked the dwarf.</p><p> </p><p>“Aye,” answered Zoltan.</p><p> </p><p>She turned to Geralt.</p><p> </p><p>“How can you pay for all this? You said you gave your last coin away this morning.”</p><p> </p><p>“No need to worry yourself, lass,” said Zoltan with a chuckle. “I put it on Dandelion’s tab.  Now, tuck in. You’ve earned it.”</p><p> </p><p>“Earned it?”</p><p> </p><p> “Aye. The little rascal finally showed hisself while you two were changing. He looked happier than a pig in slop and went straight up to see Priscilla. I’m sure she’ll be tickled pink to see him back.”</p><p> </p><p>Vivienne looked at Geralt and smiled.</p><p> </p><p>“Congratulations, Witcher. Another contract successfully completed.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah,” he said with a nod. “And hopefully the last.”</p><p> </p><p>“There’s still a couple of days till the wedding,” said Zoltan. “Think he can stay outta trouble till then?”</p><p> </p><p>“If not, then <em>you</em> can take care of him. I’m done. Now, let’s eat.”</p><p> </p><p>For the next ten minutes, Geralt and Vivienne hardly said a word as they scarfed down the food in front of them, and he thought it may have been the best meal he’d ever had. Of course, he realized that surviving the hematophage attack may have had something to do with it. Every time that he’d ever escaped death in the past, food, drink, and sex had always seemed to taste just a bit better. But, perhaps, it was even more than that. Maybe the food tasted so good because of the company he was with.</p><p> </p><p> Eventually, they began to slow down, at which point, Geralt went to the bar and returned with a couple of clean cups.  He, then, pulled out the blue bottle of Bitter Steel vodka that she’d bought for him the day before and poured of a finger of liquor into each cup.</p><p> </p><p>“Here you, go,” he said, handing the drink to Vivienne. “Do you drink vodka?”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, typically, I only drink wine.”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re such a cliché. A Toussaintois who only drinks wine.”</p><p> </p><p>“Says the vodka-loving Nordling.”</p><p> </p><p>“Touché. So, you willing to try it?”</p><p> </p><p>“Of course. The more I’m here in the North, the more that it’s rubbing off on me. I’m starting to see its charm. The food, the culture…the people.” She smiled as she said the last, and then lifted her cup. “So, am I supposed to down it all at once or sip it?”</p><p> </p><p>“This stuff? It’s too good to slam. You need to sip it. Savor it. The crisp bite. The slow burn. Enjoy the warmth as it creeps from your gut out to the rest of your body. Making your fingertips and toes tingle.”</p><p> </p><p>“Sounds almost…sensual.”</p><p> </p><p>He smirked. “It’s that good.” He then tapped his cup against hers and said, “Here’s to living.”</p><p> </p><p>“With no regrets,” she added.</p><p> </p><p>He nodded, and they both took a drink.</p><p> </p><p>Geralt honestly couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so good.  He’d escaped death that day. His stomach was full. He was drinking some of the best vodka found on the Continent. And he was having lunch with an absolutely amazing woman. And not just an amazing woman, but a woman who actually seemed to be interested in him. He didn’t think anything could ruin the mood that he was in at the moment.  And, then, suddenly, a little voice popped up in his head.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Hey, asshole, it’s not gonna work. And you know it’s not. So, quit being a selfish prick and spare the poor girl the trouble.”</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>Geralt broke eye-contact with her and stared down at the bottle of vodka on the table in front of him. He could just make out his blurry reflection in the glass. His white hair. His mutated eyes.  Which reminded him of just what he was. And what he’d always be. And he realized that the voice was right.</p><p> </p><p>“What’s wrong?” asked Vivienne. “You look like someone just stole your puppy.”</p><p> </p><p> Eventually, he exhaled deeply, gave a small nod of his head, and looked up at her.</p><p> </p><p>“Remember what I said right before I entered the mine today? That we needed to talk? Well, I…I think it’s time…before this goes any further.”</p><p> </p><p>He saw the smile fall from her face.</p><p> </p><p>“Okay. What is it you want to discuss?”</p><p> </p><p>“Five years ago, I wouldn’t have even brought this up.  I’d have just enjoyed the moment and been on my way, but…for whatever reason, that’s not the man I am anymore. I’m just…” He then looked to the ceiling and sighed. “I’m just not sure what we’re doing – me and you.”</p><p> </p><p>“We’re…I thought we were having lunch.”</p><p> </p><p>“That’s not what I mean. I mean… after the wedding, I’m going back to Toussaint. As fast as I can. To be honest, I didn’t even want to come up here in the first place, since our first harvest is going on right now. So, in a couple of days, I’m heading south, and you’re sailing to Skellige.  So, what are we doing, Vivienne?”</p><p> </p><p>She opened her mouth, but at first nothing came out. “I…I guess I’m not real sure either. Truthfully, for once, I wasn’t even thinking that far ahead for.  I was just enjoying our time together today.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Do you expect me to come to Skellige with you?”</p><p> </p><p>              “I...no. I honestly don’t have any expectations right now. I was just…living in the moment, with no regrets.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Even if I wasn’t going back to Toussaint, even if I could travel with you to Skellige…would you even want me to?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Geralt,” and then she gave him a small smile. “I don’t know what else I can do to show you how I feel about you. So, yes, I’d love to spend more time with you. To see…to see just where this might lead. Do you not?”</p><p> </p><p>              “A part of me does. But another part says we’re a couple of fools. That I’ve got no business spending time with a woman like you.”</p><p> </p><p>              “What do you mean - a woman like me?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Vivienne, you could have any man you wanted. Do you really want…I just think I’m all wrong for you.  You do realize I’m old enough to be your grandfather, right? Maybe your great-grandfather.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Just how old how you?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Close to a century.”</p><p> </p><p>              Her eyes widened momentarily, but then she shook her head.</p><p> </p><p>              “So what? Age is just a number. It’s not as if you’re some feeble old man with one foot in the grave.  I was the patroness of the Toussaint tourney, remember?  I saw you outshoot, outride, and outfight the best knights in all the kingdoms.  Men in the prime of their lives. So, I don’t care how long ago you were born. It’s maturity and compatibility that matter. If I was twelve or fifteen, then, yes, the difference in maturity levels would matter. But I’m not a little girl, Geralt. I’m a grown woman, who knows what she wants.”</p><p> </p><p>              Internally, Geralt was just shaking his head. Why was she making this so difficult? Why couldn’t see – see that he was trying to do her a favor? And, in that moment, he knew he had to tell her everything.</p><p> </p><p>              “Vivienne…I’m sterile. My mutations, they…I can’t sire children. And you deserve someone…you deserve a lot better than what I can offer you.”</p><p> </p><p>              He lowered his eyes because he didn’t want to see the look on her face. He knew it would be one of revulsion. That, after that news, the sparkle that was in her eyes when she looked at him would have vanished.  After a moment, she still hadn’t responded, and when he glanced up what he saw made him blink several times.  She had the smallest, saddest smile that he’d even seen on her lips, and her eyes were full of tenderness.</p><p> </p><p>              “Thank you for sharing that with me, Geralt. That was incredibly personal, and I could tell that it wasn’t easy for you to say. But it’s okay…because I made the decision years ago that I wouldn’t have children.”</p><p> </p><p>              “What? Why?”</p><p> </p><p>              “There’s a high probability that I may only have five more years to live. I can’t in good conscious bring a child into this world knowing that I won’t be around to raise it. To love it.”</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt didn’t know what to say. Never in a million years would he have imagined that she’d have responded with that.</p><p> </p><p>              “Do you respect me, Geralt?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Yes, of course. You know I do.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Okay. Then, respect my choice.  If you’re not interested in spending time with me, then just say so. It’d hurt to hear, but I can take it. But please don’t try to tell me what I want. To convince me that you’re not good enough for me.  I’m a grown woman. I can make that decision for myself, okay?”</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt swallowed as he stared into her eyes, and then he finally nodded.</p><p> </p><p>              “Okay. I -”</p><p> </p><p>              But he was suddenly interrupted by loud shouting coming from the other side of the cabaret, and a moment later, Dandelion came scurrying down the back stairway that led up to his and Priscilla’s living quarters.  He was carrying his lute in both hands, holding it closely to his chest. On his tail was Priscilla, her face red and eyes blazing.</p><p> </p><p>              “You lying, cheating bastard!”</p><p> </p><p>              Once Dandelion got down the stairs, he turned to face her, all the while slowly backing up from her advance.  Everyone in the cabaret had stopped what they were doing. All eyes were fixated on the couple.</p><p> </p><p>              “But, sugarplum, how many times do I have to say it? I didn’t cheat on you. Not technically. I’d never cheat on you. You’re the denouement of my life. The sonnet of my soul.”<br/><br/></p><p>              “Don’t use your gilded, serpent tongue with me!”</p><p> </p><p>              “She meant nothing, honey muffin. I swear it. I was just grieving, that’s all. You wouldn’t begrudge a man for the way he grieves, would you?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Shut up!” interrupted Priscilla, her fists clenched tightly. “My father was right. You’re nothing but a…an unscrupulous, low-class, ne’er-do-well.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Hey, now! Low-class? That’s hitting below the belt. Besides, if you hadn’t broken things off, then I never would have been in that situation.”</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt winced. “Not good, Dandelion,” he said under his breath. “Not good.”</p><p> </p><p>              “So, this is my fault?!? You’re blaming me?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Well, not…<em>blame</em>.  That’s such an ugly word.  More like – Hey, what are you doing? Put that down!”</p><p> </p><p>              In a fit of rage, Priscilla had stormed across the cabaret and had snatched a large painting off the wall.  The painting of Dandelion heroically standing over the dead wyvern, his cape snapping in the wind behind him.</p><p> </p><p>              “Sweetie pie, what do you think you’re doing?”</p><p> </p><p>              “What I should have done a long time ago! I’m going to destroy this ridiculous embarrassment.”</p><p> </p><p>              “You wouldn’t dare! That’s the defining piece of my collection.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Yeah, well, then the definition is shite! You look like a jackass in it, and no one believes for one second that you actually killed a wyvern, you…you ninny!”</p><p> </p><p>              And then she raised the painting over head.</p><p> </p><p>              “Besides, I’m grieving! Grieving the fact that I’m in love with such a worthless philanderer! And you wouldn’t begrudge a woman for the way she grieves, now would you?”</p><p> </p><p>              And with that, she slammed the painting down over the back of a nearby chair, ripping the canvas and shattering the frame.</p><p> </p><p>              “Now, get out!”</p><p> </p><p>              Dandelion just stood there in the silence of the Chameleon, staring at the mangled mess of what had once been the defining piece of his art collection. A mess that now defined his relationship with Priscilla.  After a moment, he trudged out the front door of the cabaret with his head down, still clutching his lute to his chest.</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt watched him leave and then turned to Vivienne.</p><p> </p><p>              “I better go after him. Make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Yes, well…good luck with that. Talk to you later?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Of course.”</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt grabbed his bottle of vodka off the table and headed after his friend.  He quickly found the bard heading north into the city.</p><p> </p><p>              “Dandelion, wait up!”</p><p> </p><p>              When the troubadour turned, Geralt noticed the scowl on his face.</p><p> </p><p>              “Oh, it’s you!”</p><p> </p><p>              “Hey, I was down in the main room just now. Saw everything.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Well, you gotta fix this, friend. Because it’s all your fault!”</p><p> </p><p>              “My fault? What the hell are you talking about? I’m not the one who slept with Tiffani.”</p><p> </p><p>              “‘If you want my advice,’’’ mimicked Dandelion in a gravelly, Geralt voice, “‘then you need to come clean with her. Tell her the truth. I mean, you are gonna marry the woman.’’’</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt grimaced. “So, you actually took my advice.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Yeah, like a fool. And look where it got me. I should’ve just made up a lie about why I’ve been gone.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Damn, man, I’m sorry. I really am. But how was I supposed to know?  I mean, hell, isn’t that what women are always pestering us about? Opening up to them. Being honest with our feelings and such.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Yeah, well, I guess there are some occasions where ignorance is bliss.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Yeah. So, what are you gonna do now?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Now, I am going to drink. And play my lute. And I’m going to keep drinking until I can’t drink or play my lute any longer.”</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt wanted to try to talk Dandelion out of that course of action. Wanting to say, “That’s what got you into this mess, you dolt. Getting drunk’s what led you to Tiffani, remember?”  But he knew that Dandelion was in no mood to take any more advice from him at the moment. So, instead, he said, “Sounds like a plan.” He then handed his friend his bottle of Bitter Steel vodka. “Here, the first round’s on me.”</p><p> </p><p>oOo</p><p> </p><p>Author’s Note: To all the book lovers who are reading this, yes, I know that Dandelion did not save Geralt’s life in “The Edge of the World.” In the first scene, when I had Geralt tell Vivienne that Dandelion had saved his life in the beginning of their friendship, he was referring to a not-yet-written, non-canon compliant fanfiction story that I have in mind in which I take the two of them on a bit of an adventure. An adventure that will act as a sequel to ‘A Wolf and a Weed’ and will help explain (to me, at least) just why Geralt would want to be friends with a goofball like Dandelion. Given that their personalities are so different, then how they initially became friends is something that has always been a bit of a mystery to me.  Just thought I’d clear that up for all you hard-core book fans. :-)</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“You’ve been spinning that ring for the last hour,” said the witcher after taking a long pull on his pipe. “Will you put it on your finger already - before you lose it?”</p><p> </p><p>Dandelion didn’t acknowledge that he’d even heard Geralt speak.  He just took another drink from his tankard and peered intently at the small golden band that was spinning on the table top in between them. On a table in a quiet corner of the Golden Sturgeon. They’d been there all evening, with the bard drowning his sorrows. Geralt had joined him in drinking, but after they’d finished off his bottle of vodka, he’d fortunately convinced Dandelion to switch to ale. Otherwise, they’d both probably be under the table at that point.</p><p> </p><p>Initially, the troubadour had been mostly angry – both with Priscilla for destroying his favorite portrait and with Geralt for having given him horrible advice.  At least, according to Dandelion, it had been rubbish advice.  And given the outcome, the witcher was hard-put to disagree with him. Eventually, the man’s ire turned to heartache, with a lot of moping and lament, but for the past hour, the bard had been nothing but sullen and uncommunicative, just drinking in silence as he spun the golden ring on the table over and over.  And that was causing Geralt to worry because that was not like Dandelion at all.  For as long as he’d know the man, he’d always been a chatterbox, constantly yapping regardless of his mood. He’d also never seen the bard so upset over a broken relationship. In the past, Dandelion had usually moved onto the next woman before he’d even said goodbye to the last.</p><p> </p><p>The ring’s momentum finally died, and it fell still and flat onto the wooden surface.  The bard picked it up and stared at it for a moment before looking across the table at the witcher.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s already lost.”</p><p> </p><p>“You drunk? What the hell are you talking about? It’s not lost. It’s right there in your hand.”</p><p> </p><p>A condescending look crossed Dandelion’s face.</p><p> </p><p>“Do you know what this is?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah. A ring.”</p><p> </p><p>“No. It’s a <em>wedding</em> ring.”</p><p> </p><p>“A wedding ring? What the hell is that?”</p><p> </p><p>              “I swear, you know nothing,” said the bard, shaking his head. “Sometimes, I’m surprised we’re even friends.  It’s the latest trend.  I’m not sure where it actually started. Kovir perhaps. But that matters not. What matters is that grooms now give their brides a band at their wedding ceremony.”</p><p> </p><p>              “And why would you do that?  I thought it was customary for the bride to bring the gift – the dowry.”</p><p> </p><p>              Dandelion rolled his eyes and shook his head again.</p><p>             </p><p>“Why? Why, you ask?  You don’t have an ounce of romance or poetry in your soul, do you?  I swear - you’ve got all the sensitivity of a chort. Because of love, you ignoramus! It symbolizes our love,” he said, shaking the ring for emphasis. “Our perfect, never ending love for each other. And now, it’s all gone. Because I listened to you.”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt had already apologized a half-dozen times so he didn’t bother saying he was sorry again. It was obvious that, given the bard’s current, drunken state, he wasn’t in the mood for forgiveness or personal accountability.  He just wanted to wallow in his misery.</p><p> </p><p>“Look, Dandelion, I know things don’t look real good right now, but it’ll be okay.  Tomorrow, when Priscilla wakes up, she’ll have calmed down. Then, you two can talk it out, and I’m betting she’ll forgive you.  Just…I’d recommend <em>not</em> telling her it was her fault that you slept with Tiffani. It might be better if, you know, you just said you were sorry instead.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh ho! More advice from the relationship guru! Hey, everybody! Come gather around!  Gather ‘round! The Sage of Love, here, is handing out pearls of wisdom!”</p><p> </p><p>He then looked back at the witcher with a scowl.</p><p> </p><p>“If I need advice about killing a werebub or a gulpywort, you’re my man, but, do us both a favor and keep the <em>relationship</em> advice to yourself. Because you know nothing about love.”</p><p> </p><p>“Hey, I know…” But Geralt paused mid-protest, because, if he was honest with himself, he wasn’t actually sure he did know anything about love.</p><p> </p><p>“You know what?”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, there was Yen.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, please. You think what you had with<em> her</em> was love?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, maybe.”</p><p> </p><p>Dandelion snorted.</p><p> </p><p>“If that was love, then I’m the Church’s next hierarch. You two were connected by a magical bond, and you <em>still</em> couldn’t stay together. Tell me, just how long have you known her? When did we fight that djinn in Rinde?”</p><p> </p><p>“We? I don’t remember you being in the battle?”</p><p> </p><p>“I was there! And just answer the question. How long have you known her?”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s been…I guess close to twenty-five years now.” <em>Damn, had Rinde really been that long ago?</em></p><p>
  
</p><p>“Right. And in over two decades, how much time <em>in total</em> have the two of you actually been a couple? Huh? A year? Six months, maybe? You two bring out the worst in each other. That’s not love.”</p><p> </p><p>“Alright, maybe so. But we were both willing to die for each other,” Geralt countered. “What’s that if not love?”</p><p> </p><p>Dandelion took another drink and shook his head.</p><p> </p><p>“That’s proof of nothing – certainly not of love. Peasants are willing to die for their liege in a squabble over some insignificant piece of land. Are you saying that’s love?  No, that’s duty or maybe honor. But most likely it’s just fear.  Because they know if they don’t, the lord will kick them off his land.  Nah, it’s easy to die for someone else. That’s a one-time thing. Wham-bam, and it’s over. Any fool can do that. But actually <em>living</em> for someone else.  Being there every single day for them. To see them at their worst and to <em>still</em> stick around anyway. That’s much, much harder. <em>That’s</em> love, my clueless friend.”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt didn’t say anything. He simply took a draw from his pipe and thought about what the bard had just said.  Shocked as he was to admit it, maybe Dandelion was right.  Maybe true love was less about overly grand gestures – like dying - and more about simple, day-in day-out commitment. If he was honest with himself, then he had to admit that he wouldn’t know, because he’d never made that type of commitment with anyone. Not with Triss or Essi or Shani. Not even with Yennefer.  Because, frankly, that thought terrified him. For he hadn’t been created for permanence.  He’d been mutated and trained for the Path. Forever wandering. Forever alone. And resolved to the fact that he’d probably die young, bleeding out in some gods-forsaken swamp.  He’d certainly never expected to live as long as he had.   And all of that - his transient lifestyle, along with his sterility – may have been the greatest reason why he’d never settled down. Not with Yennefer or anyone else. For he’d always believed that women wanted two things in life:  babies and a safe and secure home in which to raise them.  And, over the course of his life, he’d never had the ability to provide either of those things.  And it had only been in the last two years – since acquiring Corvo Bianco – that he could possibly provide the second. Deep down, he’d always known that he’d never be able to make a woman truly happy. Given enough time, she’d discover what he already knew - that he was going to be nothing but a disappointment to her. So, if that was the case, then why even bother with relationships at all?</p><p> </p><p>At least, that had always been his philosophy before.  But, maybe, he thought, maybe with Vivienne it could be different. She’d already told him that she didn’t want children. And he could now provide a home for her if that was what she wanted. Well, he’d be able to provide a home if he could actually keep his vineyard afloat. But did he even want that? Was he really willing to make some kind of life-long commitment with a woman – be it with Vivienne or with someone else? He honestly didn’t know.</p><p> </p><p> He took another draw from his pipe and looked at his friend.</p><p> </p><p>“And that’s what you want with Priscilla? To be there every day with her…for the rest of your life?”</p><p> </p><p>The troubadour looked him squarely in the eyes and nodded.</p><p> </p><p>“In the past, with every other woman, the thought of that would have sent a shiver up my spine. Committing to one person? Until the day I die? No thank you. But with Priscilla? Yeah.  I’ll admit - the thought of living with her, for the rest of my life, sometimes terrifies me. But it’s <em>nothing</em> compared to the dread in my stomach now. With the thought of having to live without her.”</p><p> </p><p>“Paydirt!” bellowed a familiar voice from across the room.</p><p> </p><p>Geralt turned his head to see Zoltan approaching.</p><p> </p><p> “I’ve been searching all over town for you two. You weren’t in your usual haunts. What brought you here instead of to the Kingfisher or the Passiflora?”</p><p> </p><p>“Did Priscilla send you to find me?” asked Dandelion, ignoring the dwarf’s question. The hopeful tone in his voice was unmistakable.</p><p> </p><p>“Ah, sorry, pal, but no. Just thought I’d track you down myself. See how you were holding up.”</p><p> </p><p>Dandelion’s face fell upon hearing that news. “So, what did she do after I left? Did she talk to you at all?”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, she, uh…” Zoltan hesitated, scratching the back of his head. “She tossed the painting in the rubbish and told me she was going to see her family. To tell them the wedding was off.”</p><p> </p><p>“The wedding…the wedding is off? So, she’s…she’s really…” Then, he scowled. “She’s probably sitting with her father right now. The pious bastard has never liked me. Has never thought I was good enough for her. And why? Simply because I own a cabaret. He’s probably telling her, ‘I told you so, Priscilla. I told you so. I warned you that he’s nothing but <em>low-class</em>.’ Of all things. What poppycock!  I am the Viscount of Lettenhove!  Master of the Seven Liberal Arts! I am nothing if not the epitome of sophistication and bloody refinement!”</p><p> </p><p>               The bard was suddenly standing up from the bench with his finger pointing to the ceiling.  The hand full of patrons at the nearby tables looked at him for a moment, shook their heads, and then went back to their conversations.</p><p> </p><p>              A moment later, Dandelion’s eyes widened, and he immediately sat down and grabbed his lute. He strummed it a few times as he hummed some unintelligible words. Geralt saw a small smile come to his face before he nodded to himself.  He quickly reached into the inner pocket of his doublet and pulled out his small journal and a writing utensil.  The witcher knew that his friend never went anywhere without something on which to jot down his thoughts.</p><p> </p><p>And for the next hour, while Geralt and Zoltan drank, smoked and joked, the bard strummed, hummed, and scribbled notes.   Every once in a while, Geralt would see him scowl and grumble out the words, “Low class? I’ll give her low class” as he furiously crafted his latest artistic masterpiece. Of course, Dandelion was also drinking non-stop the entire time. Finally, he slammed his pencil down on the table and looked at Geralt and Zoltan.  The witcher noticed that the man’s eyes were glassy and that he seemed to be swaying a bit on the bench.</p><p> </p><p>“There!” he exclaimed. “She thinks I’m low class?  Well, then, ‘Who needs her?’ I say.”</p><p> </p><p>He then stood, grabbed his lute, and wobbled towards the front room of the tavern where there was a small stage for musicians.</p><p> </p><p>“Come on,” said Geralt to Zoltan. “This could wind up ugly.”</p><p> </p><p>The band happened to be in between sets so the stage was empty. Thus, the troubadour simply tottered his way onto the stage and sat down on a tall stool that had been left there. </p><p> </p><p>“Good evening…ladies and gents! You should feel privileged tonight,” he slightly slurred. “Because you are about to hear the world premiere of a brand-new song…crafted and sung by none other than I, the great…and low-class, Master Dandelion.”</p><p> </p><p>The troubadour nodded his head at the smattering of applause. He strummed his lute once, and then, as he began singing, he finger-picked the strings in a slow tempo.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“As I packed up my things, she said I hope you’ve thought this through,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>‘Cause you’ll never do better than me in that life you’re running to.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>And now looking back on that day I walked out that door,</em>
</p><p><em>Regret seizes me ‘cause I know</em>…”</p><p> </p><p>After a slight pause, he suddenly started strumming quickly on the strings.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “…I should’ve left her years before!”</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>“‘Cause now it’s road trips and poker chips and all-night games with girls who strip, </em>
</p><p>
  <em>And getting high with all my low-class friends.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>And I’ve only got myself to blame for falling for that ball and chain,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>But now I’m finally back from where I’ve been…so hello, life…I’m single again.”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>By this point, everyone in the tavern was stomping their feet and clapping along to the upbeat tempo.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Well, all my friends they tried to warn me things would change</em>
</p><p>
  <em>When I said, ‘I do,’ on that fateful day.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>And sure enough those married days felt like hard time,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>‘Cause it turned out my sweet angel wife…was her mother in disguise.”</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>“But now it’s road trips and poker chips and all-night games with girls who strip, </em>
</p><p>
  <em>And getting high with all my low-class friends.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>And I’ve only got myself to blame for falling for that ball and chain,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>But I escaped the hell that I was in…so hello, life… I’m single again.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Yes, hello, life…I’m single again.”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>              “Bravo! Encore!” several of the patrons shouted.</p><p> </p><p>              “Pam param!” yelled out someone else. “Pam pam param!”</p><p> </p><p>              The troubadour doffed his beret - his peacock feather sweeping against the tops of his calf-skin loafers - and gave a slight bow of his head to acknowledge the crowd.  He then stood up from the stool, took one step, staggered, and passed out onto the tavern floor.</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt looked at his sprawled-out friend and then to Zoltan. <br/><br/></p><p>              “Looks like the party’s over.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Aye, let’s go get the poor sap.”</p><p> </p><p>oOo</p><p> </p><p>              Vivienne was running through a dark woods. Though it was midday, the canopy of the trees overhead was so thick that only a few rays of sunlight could fight their way through and illuminate the forest floor. As she ran, her dress kept snagging on bushes and tree limbs, tearing the fabric. It was as if the forest was alive, doing its best to hinder her from her goal. But she was determined. Nothing would stop her.</p><p> </p><p>Despite her heavy breathing, she could still hear the monster’s low growl coming from somewhere up ahead.  She had to reach it. She just had to. And, suddenly, without even thinking, she began to sing. Her dulcet tones echoed through the forest and seemed to push back both the darkness that surrounded her and also any lingering internal doubts. A moment later, she burst forth from the forest and into a sun-lit clearing. It was beautiful, nothing like the dark woods from which she’d just escaped. In fact, it reminded her of the magical glade back in Toussaint. There were golden orioles singing in the trees, and butterflies glided here and there along the gentle breeze.  A pond of crystal-clear water was located on the far side of the meadow and was surrounded by beautiful flowers – white myrtle, daisies, and tulips. She looked down to notice that she wasn’t wearing any shoes, and she smiled as she stepped through the soft, lush grass. But then she heard a growl, and her eyes snapped upward, landing on the deadly animal.</p><p> </p><p>Near the edge of the glade, in the shadow of a thick tree, stood a gigantic wolf, its leg caught in the teeth of a metal trap. The dangerous beast was staring right into her eyes, his grayish-white hair standing on end. She swallowed down her fear and took a tentative step forward.  Immediately, the wolf barked and bared his teeth.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s okay,” she said softly.  “It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you. I’m here to help.”</p><p> </p><p>The wolf didn’t bark in response to her words, but she could hear a low, persistent growl coming from his throat. For the next several minutes, she continued to speak in soothing tones to the savage beast, all the while taking tiny steps forward in his direction until, eventually, she was standing right next to him. She swallowed as she took in his size. He stood higher than her waist, and his paws were bigger than her hands. By that point, he was no longer baring his teeth, but she could tell he was still wary. One false move, and she knew he would snap his ferocious jaws. </p><p> </p><p>“Hey,” she whispered. “Hey, everything will be alright. I’m not going to hurt you.”</p><p> </p><p>She carefully knelt down next to the animal and peered at his leg caught in the trap.  She sucked in her breath at what she saw.  The fur of his lower leg was completely stained red with blood. The metal teeth had dug into his flesh, and he’d tried so hard to escape that he’d torn his muscles to shreds.  It looked like, at one point, that he may have even attempted to gnaw his leg off.  She glanced at his muzzle, and, sure enough, she could see traces of blood there as well.</p><p> </p><p>“You poor thing,” she whispered. “Here, let me help you.”</p><p> </p><p>She slowly reached her hands out toward the trap and carefully opened its jaws. The wolf immediately removed his leg, but when he tried to flee, he yelped in pain and stumbled to the ground.</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t go,” she said softly. “Don’t go. You don’t have to be afraid.”</p><p> </p><p>The wolf was standing again, holding his front paw in the air, keeping his weight off of that leg.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m going to fix that wound up, okay?”</p><p> </p><p>She knelt down in front of the wolf and very slowly placed her closed hand near his face. He initially flinched, jerking his head away, but a second later, he brought his snout close and sniffed her hand. </p><p> </p><p>“That’s right. I’m your friend.”</p><p> </p><p>She let him continue to smell her scent for a bit, and once he seemed calm, she started to gently apply an ointment to his injured leg.  The huge animal whimpered at her touch, but he neither attacked her nor tried to flee.  He simply stood there, looking at her as she worked. </p><p> </p><p>She didn’t know where the medicine had come from. It had simply appeared, but at that point, she didn’t care.  All of her focus was on caring for the wolf in front of her. On easing his pain and healing his wounds.  She gave him a potion to drink and carefully began wrapping his leg in bandages. </p><p> </p><p>“There, all done,” she said a few minutes later. She reached up and gently rubbed her hand through the thick hair atop his head. “Isn’t that better?”</p><p> </p><p>The massive wolf brought his snout to her face. He sniffed her a few times and then nuzzled her cheek with his nose, causing her to smile.</p><p> </p><p>“I guess that’s a ‘yes.’”</p><p> </p><p>And it was then that Vivienne awoke from her dream. She blinked her eyes several times and raised herself upright in bed. She was almost out of breath.  In all of her life, she’d never had a dream that vivid. It had seemed so real.  Even now, wide awake, it still felt real to her. And she realized that she still had a smile on her face.</p><p> </p><p>She looked towards the window to see that dawn had arrived so she quickly threw back the covers and got out of bed. As she went through her morning ablutions, she hummed to herself – not bothering to be quiet since Marissa had once again spent the evening with Count Dufrene – and thought about the last few days. She couldn’t believe just how much had changed in such a short time.</p><p> </p><p>              When she’d arrived on the ship in Novigrad, she’d felt so empty. She’d questioned what she was even doing anymore, for all the parties and balls had long ago lost their luster.  Even traveling to strange lands and experiencing new cultures didn’t thrill her like it used to.  And she knew why.  The last two days had shown her what she’d already known deep down in her heart. She wanted to share all of those experiences with someone special. With someone with whom she could laugh and cry. With someone who could make her heart thump from simply holding his hand. With someone she could trust and just be herself.</p><p> </p><p>              Vivienne honestly didn’t know if Geralt was that man, but she knew she wanted to find out. She’d never met any man with such decency and honor, who went out of his way to help others in need. And, if she was truthful, she’d never known any man who stirred up such passion within her. When she closed her eyes, she could still remember the feel of his lips from their kiss. And Marissa would probably laugh out loud and do cartwheels if she knew that her cousin had thought about him multiple times as he’d been at the Passiflora, wearing nothing but that bright blue thong. Lying in bed last night, she’d even imagined what it’d feel like to have his muscular body pressed tightly to hers.</p><p> </p><p>              In fact, she’d stayed up late, hoping that Geralt would come by her room and knock on her door, but he never did. She assumed that he’d spent the entire evening with Dandelion, once again helping his friend with his troubles. And, suddenly, she sensed a whiff of jealousy stirring about inside.  She’d felt it last night, too.</p><p> </p><p>              “Stop it, Vivienne. You should be ashamed,” she chastised herself. “Geralt was right to go with him instead of staying with you. Dandelion needed him.” She then sighed. “I just hope the buffoon realizes what a great friend he’s got.”</p><p> </p><p>              After getting dressed, she headed to Geralt’s room – doing her best not to run.  She knocked on his door several times, and when no one answered, she was surprised by just how disappointed she felt. At that point, she wasn’t sure what to do. Marissa was gone, and Geralt still hadn’t returned.  But, then, a memory from her dream flashed through her mind. She pictured herself kneeling in that beautiful glade next to that massive, white wolf. A dangerous wolf that was injured, angry, and scared – but who, with just a little love and tenderness, came to nuzzle her cheek. And she suddenly had an idea of how she’d spend her morning.</p><p> </p><p>oOo</p><p> </p><p>              “Hey, Geralt! I thought that was you.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Hello, Bea. It’s been a long time. How you been?”</p><p> </p><p>              “I can’t complain,” answered the young waitress. “And you?”</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt glanced across the table at Dandelion. The bard was hunched over and moaning.</p><p> </p><p>              “I could. But it wouldn’t do any good. So, what’s the point?”</p><p> </p><p>              Bea looked at Dandelion and snickered. “Right. So, what can I get you gentlemen this morning?”</p><p> </p><p>              “The full-plate breakfast. All around.”</p><p> </p><p>              At that, the troubadour whimpered, and his face turned even more queasy.</p><p> </p><p>              “And, Bea, the greasier, the better.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Coming right up,” said the freckle-faced woman with a laugh.</p><p> </p><p>              Not wanting to go back to the Chameleon the previous evening, the three had decided – or, rather, Geralt and Zoltan had decided since Dandelion had been passed-out drunk – that they would stay the night at the Golden Sturgeon.  It was now mid-morning as the three huddled around a long table in the main room. After Bea had walked away, Zoltan pulled out a bottle from his satchel.</p><p> </p><p>              “Here you go, Dandelion. Some of Mahakam’s finest.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Ugh,” moaned the bard. “Are you trying to kill me? I can’t.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Ah, you big baby. A little hair of the dog that bit ya, and you’d be right as rain,” said the dwarf, taking a pull from the bottle.</p><p> </p><p>              “I’ll pass.” He then looked at Geralt. “So, what’s the plan?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Plan for what?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Are you serious? To fix the mess I’m in, that’s what. A mess that’s your fault, by the way.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Right. Of course, it is. It’s always my fault.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Well, it’s good to hear you finally admit it. So?”</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt nodded his head and got a serious look on his face.</p><p> </p><p>              “I was actually thinking about this all night, and…I think the best course of action is to ride for Oxenfurt.”</p><p> </p><p>              “For Oxenfurt? Why?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Well, I hear that, at the Academy, they’ve got world-renowned scientists who are studying the deepest mysteries of quantum physics.  Top of the field engineers coming up with cutting-edge experiments to determine exactly how the dimensions of time and space actually work.”</p><p> </p><p>              “And just how in the world is that going to help me?”</p><p> </p><p>              “I was thinking that maybe they’ve invented some kind of time-traveling contraption. Maybe a portal. So that you can go back and talk yourself out of sleeping with Tiffani.”</p><p> </p><p>              Zoltan guffawed, but Dandelion just scowled.</p><p> </p><p>              “Oh, ha ha! Very funny. This is serious, Geralt. And all you’ve got is jokes?  And not even good ones, at that? You’ve got to help me.”</p><p> </p><p>              “What am I supposed to do?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Go to Priscilla. Talk to her. She’ll listen to you.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Why would she listen to me? I’m your friend.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Because she’ll be calm with you. Yesterday, when we were still upstairs, after I told her about Tiffani, she said she wanted to punch me in the face. Can you believe that?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Well, to be fair…it is quite punch-able.”    </p><p> </p><p>              “Aye,” interjected Zoltan. “You know, I’ve known the lass for years now, and I’ve never seen her so angry.”</p><p> </p><p>              “I know, right! It was a total overreaction.”</p><p> </p><p>              “He didn’t say she overreacted,” said Geralt.</p><p> </p><p>              “Well, she did. I swear – she just hasn’t been herself lately.”</p><p> </p><p>              “I told ya,” said Zoltan, looking at Geralt. “She’s always been the picture of patience with this knucklehead. She’d have to be, but now…”</p><p> </p><p>              “I know. I have no idea what’s going on with her,” said the bard, shaking his head.          </p><p> </p><p>              It was then that Bea arrived with their breakfast. She plopped a plate down in front of each of them – a plate piled high with greasy sausages and eggs and potatoes.</p><p> </p><p>              “Aha!” exclaimed Zoltan. “This’ll hit the spot. I’m so hungry my stomach thinks my throat’s been cut.”</p><p> </p><p>              Dandelion just looked queasy and pushed the plate away from him.</p><p> </p><p>              “Could this day get any worse?” he asked just as the front door of the tavern opened.</p><p> </p><p>              “There you are, you rat!” came a man’s voice from the doorway.</p><p> </p><p>              A moment later, an incredibly handsome knight wearing chest armor and a sword on his hip strode towards the table.</p><p> </p><p>              “Quentin?” said Dandelion. “This is great! Did Priscilla send you to find me? Does she want to talk things out?”</p><p> </p><p>              “No, you contemptible cur! I am here because you have dishonored my sister!” He threw a glove on the table in front of Dandelion. “I demand a duel of honor!”</p><p> </p><p>              And with that proclamation, the bard proceeded to vomit all over the handsome knight’s boots. Quentin immediately jumped back and grabbed the hilt of his sword.</p><p> </p><p>              “You swine!”</p><p> </p><p>              But before the knight could fully bare his blade, Geralt was standing in front of him, his hand on the grip of his witcher steel sword.</p><p> </p><p>              “Sheathe your weapon,” he growled.</p><p> </p><p>              “I demand satisfaction! He has dishonored my sister, and now he’s dishonored me.”</p><p> </p><p>              “It was an accident. Look at the man. He’s as sick as a dog. He needs an hour to pull himself together.”</p><p> </p><p>              Quentin didn’t respond, but he didn’t sheath his sword, either. He was glaring at the bard, and Geralt noticed that the knight was slowly withdrawing his weapon from its scabbard, inch-by-inch.</p><p> </p><p>              “Alright. Go ahead. Skin that blade and see what happens.”</p><p> </p><p>              Quentin’s eyes shifted from Dandelion to the witcher.</p><p> </p><p>              “Is that a threat?”</p><p> </p><p>              A hideous smile slowly came to the monster-slayer’s face.</p><p> </p><p>              “You tell me,” he said in barely above a whisper. “Do you <em>feel</em> threatened?”</p><p> </p><p>              “You, <em>sir</em>, may be a knight, but you’re no gentleman.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Never claimed to be. And what I’m also not is a sick, defenseless poet. But I am this – the deadliest son-of-a-bitch you’ll ever meet. And I’ll remove your pretty little head from your neck…before you ever finish clearing your scabbard.”</p><p> </p><p>              The two men were staring daggers at each other, but eventually, Quentin blinked, sheathed his sword, and nodded.</p><p> </p><p>              “Very well. Far be it from me to duel a man when he’s incapacitated. I’ll grant your request. He has an hour.”</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt slowly lowered his hand from his sword and back down to his side.</p><p> </p><p>              “I knew you were a sensible fellow.”</p><p> </p><p>              “I’ll be waiting over there.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Good for you,” said Geralt before taking a step backwards next to Dandelion, never taking his eyes off of the knight. He reached down, grabbed the bard underneath the arm, and stood him upright. “Zoltan, head to bar, please, and order the hottest mug of coffee they’ve got.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Aye. I’m on it.”</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt grabbed one of the plates of food and steered a still-moaning Dandelion through the main room and out the side door.  He led him towards a horses’ trough at the front of the tavern and proceeded to dunk the bard underwater several times before he finally started protesting.</p><p> </p><p>              “Alright, alright, enough,” he muttered weakly.</p><p> </p><p>              He was sitting on the ground, his back resting against the trough and looking like a drowned rat.</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt thrust the plate of food into his hands.</p><p> </p><p>              “Here, eat. Or I’ll shove it down your throat.”</p><p> </p><p>              At that point, Zoltan arrived with a steaming mug of coffee and handed it to Dandelion.</p><p> </p><p>              “You’ve got yerself in a fine pickle, haven’t ya, mate?”</p><p> </p><p>              Dandelion didn’t answer. He just nodded pathetically at Zoltan and then nibbled on a sausage.</p><p> </p><p>              “Think the brother is any good with a sword,” the dwarf asked Geralt.</p><p> </p><p>              “Don’t know. I’ve met a lot men in my time who clearly carried their swords for nothing but show. Barely knew which end to hold.  But, hell, even if he’s the worst knight to ever wield a blade, he’d still be better than him,” he said, nodding toward Dandelion. He then lowered his voice. “Go find Priscilla. I don’t care how angry she is…I can’t believe that she’d be okay with bloodshed. Maybe she can talk some sense into them.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Got it,” said Zoltan before taking off down the roadway as fast as his short legs could carry him.</p><p> </p><p>              The next half-hour passed in relative silence with Geralt scowling at his friend while Dandelion did his best to hold down his breakfast.</p><p> </p><p>              “Feeling better, sunshine?” Geralt eventually asked.</p><p> </p><p>              Dandelion gave a small nod.</p><p> </p><p>              “Good. Then, go inside and tell prince charming that you’ll have to respectfully decline his offer for a duel.”</p><p> </p><p>              “What are you talking about? I’m going to accept it.”</p><p> </p><p>              “You can’t be serious.”</p><p> </p><p>              “That is where you are wrong. I can be, and I am.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Dandelion, use your brain for once in your life,” growled the witcher.</p><p> </p><p>              “If I decline the duel, then what? I’ll tell you what - I become a laughing-stock. Unable to show my face in the entire city. ‘Oh, there’s Master Dandelion – the Continent’s greatest poet, troubadour, and <em>coward</em>.’  I’d have to sell the Chameleon and move to Zerrikania. And you know how much I hate the hot weather.  I always get a heat rash. It’s not my fault I’ve got sensitive skin. So, no, I have to accept.”</p><p> </p><p>               “Do you really think you can beat him?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Most likely not, but what does it matter? Without Priscilla, I think I’d rather die.”</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt rolled his eyes.</p><p> </p><p>              “Knock off the melodrama, would you? You’re not on stage.”</p><p> </p><p>              “And just what would you do? Would you reject the duel?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Of course not. But I’m a witcher. You know, someone who’s actually <em>skilled</em> with a blade. But you? Hell, are you even strong enough to pick up a sword?” Dandelion didn’t even bother to respond, simply glaring at his friend with a look of annoyance. “The only thing you can wield is a lute.”</p><p> </p><p>Dandelion’s scowl suddenly disappeared, and a smile slowly came to his face.</p><p> </p><p>              “That’s it. You’re a genius.”</p><p> </p><p>              He grabbed his lute, groaned as he struggled to his feet, and headed towards the door of the tavern.</p><p> </p><p>              “What in the world is he up to now?” mumbled Geralt as he trailed behind his friend.</p><p> </p><p>              Dandelion made his way across the main room, and Priscilla’s brother stood – with hand on sword – as the bard approached.</p><p> </p><p>              “I formally accept your duel, Quentin.”</p><p> </p><p>              The knight furrowed his brow. “Really?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Of course. You act surprised.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Because I am. It’s a duel of honor, of which you have none.”</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt saw Dandelion clench his jaws at the insult, but the bard didn’t immediately respond.</p><p> </p><p>              “I have agreed to your duel…under my official title, the Viscount of Lettenhove,” he eventually growled out. “And as such, I call upon the Codex of Lettenhove regarding duels, which states that, as the person challenged, I choose the weapons that shall be used during said duel.”</p><p> </p><p>              “That’s fine…<em>Viscount</em>,” smirked Quentin. “Name your weapon. I’ll best you at whatever you pick.”</p><p> </p><p>              At that, Dandelion smiled.</p><p> </p><p>              “Excellent. In that case, I choose…dueling lutes,” he pronounced as he expertly strummed the strings on his instrument.</p><p> </p><p>              “What is this? Some kind of joke? Making a mockery of honor? I should have known.”</p><p> </p><p>              “I assure you – I’m not making a mockery of honor, nor is this a joke. In fact, there is even precedent.  In 1248, the Baron of Wallenby and the Duke of Castor conducted a duel in which both gentlemen played their respective flutes.  Of course, a panel of impartial judges was required to determine the victor. But I have no doubt we can round up some volunteers to judge our duel.”  The troubadour then played his lute, his fingers flashing up and down the neck as beautiful notes filled the tavern. “So, do you accept my conditions, Quentin? Or would you prefer to rescind your demand for honor?”</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt looked at the knight and would swear that he could actually hear the man grinding his teeth. Eventually, though, a smile came to his face, and he gave a small nod of his head. Despite that, Geralt was still wary because he didn’t see a whole lot of mirth in the smile.</p><p> </p><p>              “You are a clever, little chap, aren’t you?” </p><p> </p><p>              Dandelion puffed up. “If I may so humbly say so, then yes.  Cleverness is one of my many notable traits. Excelling in the arts requires it.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Yes, well…far be it from me to decline the terms of the Lettenhove Codex. I accept your conditions regarding weapons, and I’ll even forfeit the need for a panel of judges.  I trust Geralt here – as an <em>honorable </em>knight – to judge impartially. What say you, Geralt?”</p><p> </p><p>              The witcher peered closely at the knight. He didn’t know what Quentin’s angle was, but he was suddenly highly suspicious of the man’s behavior and change of attitude.  But he kept his thoughts to himself and simply nodded his assent.</p><p> </p><p>              “Wonderful!” said Dandelion. “I’ll be gracious and let you choose. Would you like to go first or me?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Please, you first,” answered Quentin. “I’d love to hear the Master ply his trade.”</p><p> </p><p>              Dandelion gave an exaggerated bow, headed to the stage, and sat on the stool that was still there from the night before.  A few patrons were still sitting around the tables eating their breakfasts. He gave a nod of the head to them and pronounced, “This is a short, simple piece – titled, “Inferno.”</p><p> </p><p>              And, instantly, the troubadour’s hands went into action. He may have been hungover, but no one would have ever known.  His left hand was flying over the frets while the fingers of his right hand seemed to be picking at every string simultaneously. And he was doing it all without a single mistake, every note ringing true.  A minute later, he ended the song with a flourish, his right hand high in the air.  There was a smattering of applause, to which the bard nodded. He exited the stage and approached Quentin.</p><p> </p><p>              “Impressive,” said the knight. “Very impressive. Priscilla has bragged about your talent. To be honest, I always thought she was exaggerating, but apparently not.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Thank you, Quentin. That’s kind of you to say.”</p><p>                     </p><p>              “Now, I suppose that it’s my turn, isn’t it? Unfortunately, I’m afraid that you’ve caught me unprepared. I don’t happen to have a lute on me.  Would you be so gracious as to allow me to borrow yours, perhaps?”</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt’s eyes immediately shifted to Dandelion, and he saw the bard gulp.</p><p> </p><p>              “My lute? You want to borrow mine?” he asked as he held it protectively to his chest.</p><p> </p><p>              Quentin offered his beautiful smile.</p><p> </p><p>              “Well, of course. I don’t see any other lute around here, do you? It’s going to be difficult for me to conclude this duel without one, no?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Right, right,” stammered Dandelion. “Of course.”</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt could see his friend’s hand shaking as he passed his instrument toward Quentin. </p><p> </p><p>              “Dandelion,” warned Geralt. When the bard turned to look at him, Geralt gave a small shake of his head. </p><p> </p><p>              “You’re not <em>afraid</em>, are you, Dandelion?” asked Quentin.</p><p> </p><p>“Afraid? Me? Of course not. I’m afraid of nothing,” he blustered, and he handed over the lute.</p><p> </p><p>              “Thank you, Dandelion,” Quentin said with a smile before heading to the stage. He didn’t bother to sit on the stool, however. He brought the lute to his chest and plucked at a couple of strings.  He then brought his eyes up to meet the bard. </p><p> </p><p>              “Priscilla has said that you love this lute. She joked that perhaps you love it more than you do her.  And I can see why. It’s got a beautiful sound.”  At that point, Geralt saw the man’s eyes turn cold. “My piece is entitled, ‘Payback…for dishonoring my sister.’’’</p><p> </p><p>              And, with a shout, he turned and smashed the lute over the wooden stool several times. </p><p> </p><p>              “Noooo!” screamed Dandelion.</p><p> </p><p>Quentin tossed the broken instrument to the floor and looked at Geralt.</p><p> </p><p>“So, witcher, who won the duel?” he asked before laughing.</p><p> </p><p>Dandelion rushed to the stage and scooped up the destroyed lute. The wood was in pieces, a few bits of the shattered body only connected to the snapped neck by limp strings.  He glared at Quentin, who was simply staring back, a smug smile on his face.  Then, the smile turned hard.</p><p> </p><p>“Stay away from my sister, you low-class, dishonorable dog.”</p><p> </p><p>              “How dare you!” yelled Dandelion, standing up.</p><p> </p><p>              “Oh, I dared, because you’re nothing but a coward.”</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt was suddenly between the two men.</p><p> </p><p>              “Dandelion, calm down. We’ll buy you a new lute, okay? Just calm down.”</p><p> </p><p>              “That’s right, coward,” egged on Quentin. “You’d best calm down. You and I both know you’re not capable of fighting me.  So, stay hidden behind your witcher friend…coward!”</p><p> </p><p>              “No one calls me a coward! I demand satisfaction!” yelled the bard. “A duel of honor!”</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt sighed and shook his head.</p><p> </p><p>              A slow smile came to Quentin’s face.</p><p> </p><p>              “You demand satisfaction? But of course.  I <em>gladly</em> accept. And as the man challenged, then I get to choose the weapons. And I choose the sword. I’ll await you in the street.”</p><p> </p><p>              With that, the knight turned and exited the tavern.</p><p> </p><p>              “You just can’t keep your bloody mouth shut, can you?” growled Geralt.  “Couldn’t you tell he was goading you?”</p><p> </p><p>              “What did I just do?” Dandelion looked like he was in shock.</p><p> </p><p>              “You just challenged a knight to a duel, you bloody fool.” Geralt clenched his jaws and then unsheathed his steel sword. “Just wait here,” he ordered. “I’ll go take care of the pretty boy.”</p><p> </p><p>              But before he could turn towards the door, Dandelion stopped him.</p><p> </p><p>              “Don’t you dare! <em>I</em> am the one that challenged him. How would it look if you faced him instead? It would be a breach of dueling protocols.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Dandelion, since when have I ever given a <em>damn</em> about pompous knights and their ridiculous, chivalric code? Besides, I just spent two days going through all manners of hell to break your curse. After all that, I’m not about to watch you die out there in the street over something as silly as your honor. I’ll just tell him you changed your mind, and if he doesn’t like it, then he can deal with me.”</p><p> </p><p>              “No! It’s true, I asked you to help me before, but I’m not asking you now. I will handle this myself. So, promise me, Geralt. Promise me that you won’t interfere.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Even if it means your death?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Yes, even then.”</p><p> </p><p>              Suddenly, the heat left Geralt, and he shook his head.</p><p> </p><p>              “I…I don’t think I can promise that, Dandelion. I can’t just stand there and watch you die. Not when I can stop it.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Then, you don’t respect me at all, do you?”</p><p> </p><p>              “What the hell are you talking about?”</p><p> </p><p>              “You may not have liked it, but you respected Ciri enough to allow her to make her own decisions…about facing the Wild Hunt and the White Frost. Well, this is <em>my</em> decision. Besides, I wasn’t being melodramatic before. I meant what I said about Priscilla. I don’t really want to live without her.  But…maybe, if I can defeat her brother in a duel of honor, then she’ll have me back. So, promise me.”</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt didn’t say anything for a moment, just staring at his friend. Finally, he sighed.</p><p> </p><p>              “Dandelion, I…Fine. I promise…that I’ll<em> try</em> not to interfere. That’s the best I can do.” He offered his sword to the bard and pointed to the grip. “Just make sure to hold this end. Got it?”</p><p> </p><p>Dandelion grasped the sword, stared at it for a moment, and swallowed hard.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re your own worst enemy. You know that?” said Geralt.</p><p> </p><p>The bard gave a barely perceptible nod.</p><p> </p><p>“The thought has crossed my mind on an occasion or two.”</p><p> </p><p>“And you never took the time to listen to it? Maybe do a little introspection?”</p><p> </p><p>“I did.”<br/><br/></p><p>“And?”</p><p> </p><p>“I concluded they were the raving thoughts of a madman. So, I decided to ignore them.”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt rolled his eyes. “You’re a piece of work, man.”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, why should I have listened to such nonsense?  Everything always comes up roses for me. I’m talented and rich…handsome and famous. I own the finest cabaret in all of Novigrad. And I have - well, <em>had</em> – the most amazing woman on the Continent. If I’m my own worst enemy, then more people need enemies like me.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah? And how are things looking right now?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Not good.” He then glanced at the door, outside of which awaited a very angry knight. “So, what exactly should I do?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Don’t get hit.”</p><p> </p><p>              “I’m serious!”</p><p> </p><p>              “So am I. Stay away from him. But if he does draw blood, then, if I were you, I’d immediately cry out ‘Yield’ and hope he shows you mercy.”</p><p> </p><p>              “And if he doesn’t?</p><p> </p><p>              “Then, Zoltan and I will give you a nice funeral and raise a glass in your memory. And then I’ll kill the whoreson.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Right.” He then grabbed the sword with both hands and took a couple of very awkward practice swings. “You know, your sword<em> really</em> is a lot heavier than it looks. I much prefer my little dagger.”</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt just sighed and shook his head. “You should have thought about that before. Let’s go, hero.”</p><p> </p><p>              By the time the two made it out into the street, word had spread and a crowd had gathered.  Geralt stopped at the edge of the crowd while Dandelion continued a few steps forward and faced his enemy. The two men stood fifteen feet apart, and Geralt noticed that Quentin was no longer wearing his hard leather, chest armor.</p><p> </p><p>              “As you can see,” the knight said, addressing Dandelion, “I have removed my armor in order to be attired more similarly to yourself.  Unlike you, I know the meaning of honor.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Thank you, Quentin. That’s gracious of you.  But I also happen to be <em>severely</em> hungover. So, if you were truly honorable, then you’d head into the tavern and down a bottle of vodka and a dozen pints of ale before we continue.”</p><p> </p><p>              Quentin scowled. “Again, you mock.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Who’s jesting? I’m being serious.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Drunkenness is a violation of Lebioda’s teachings. Not that I would except you to know.  So, no, I refuse your request. However, to show just how magnanimous I can be – I shall permit you to yield right now, before blood is shed.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Really?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Yes. All you must do is confess your sins against my sister to this audience here…and proclaim yourself to be the dishonorable, unscrupulous, debased coward that you truly are!”</p><p> </p><p>              Several people in the crowd gasped.</p><p>             </p><p>              “Never,” growled Dandelion before clumsily swinging the sword. “En garde!”</p><p> </p><p>              The bard charged at Quentin, but the knight easily parried and stepped aside, causing Dandelion to lose his balance and fall the ground.  Several of the on-lookers laughed, bringing an even deeper scowl to the poet’s face.</p><p> </p><p>              “Damn it, Dandelion. I told you to stay away from him. Not rush him,” mumbled Geralt to himself. “This is gonna be even worse than I thought.”</p><p> </p><p>              Dandelion charged at the knight again, and once again with the same result. Only this time, Quentin also struck at the bard’s shoulder, causing the troubadour to cry out in pain. He grimaced and clutched at his shoulder, and when he pulled his hand away, Geralt could see blood seeping into the fabric of the shirt.</p><p> </p><p>              “Yield, damn it,” the witcher whispered. “Say, ‘yield.’’’</p><p> </p><p>              But Dandelion refused. Twice more, he rushed at Quentin, and the result of each charge was a new bloody wound. And with each strike to his friend’s body, Geralt clenched his jaws harder. It was obvious that Quentin could kill the poet whenever he wanted, and, at first, Geralt wasn’t sure if the knight was showing mercy and restraint or simply toying with the fool, like a cat with a mouse. But when Geralt peered at the knight, it became obvious. The smug smirk plastered across Quentin’s face made it clear that he was relishing Dandelion’s humiliation. And, suddenly, Geralt’s blood boiled over. For there was no honor in this duel, at least not on Quentin’s part. For there was no honor in humiliating one’s opponent. </p><p> </p><p>              Despite his promise to Dandelion, Geralt had finally seen enough.  It was bad enough that he had promised Dandelion that he would stand there and watch his friend die.  But he’d be damned if he was going to watch his friend also be humiliated in the process.  He was just reaching for his silver sword when he heard shouting coming their way. </p><p> </p><p>              “Make room! Make room!” came a familiar, dwarven voice.</p><p> </p><p>              Suddenly, the crowd parted, and Priscilla and Zoltan rushed into the middle of the fray.</p><p> </p><p>              “Stop it, Quentin!” she yelled as she jumped in front of Dandelion’s bloody and sweat-soaked body. “Put down your sword this instant!”</p><p> </p><p>              “Step aside, sister! I’m about to end this contemptible cur for dishonoring our family name!”</p><p> </p><p>              “You can’t, Quentin! You can’t!”</p><p> </p><p>              “And just why not, dear sister?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Because…” and then she turned to look at Dandelion. “This contemptible cur is the father of my child.”</p><p> </p><p>              And upon hearing that, Dandelion proceeded to faint dead-away.  Priscilla, Geralt, and Zoltan all rushed towards him, and she knelt in the street next to him and placed his head in her lap.</p><p> </p><p>              “Dandelion! Dandelion, please be okay,” she begged, as she cradled his head and gently patted his cheek. “Please wake up!”</p><p> </p><p>              Zoltan chuckled and turned to Geralt.</p><p> </p><p>              “Can ya believe it?  The dunderhead’s gonna be a father.  Just imagine - another little Dandelion running around in the world.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Heaven help us.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Well, at least this explains why Priscilla’s not been herself lately.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Yeah.”</p><p> </p><p>              At that point, Dandelion opened his eyes. He blinked several times as he looked up into his love’s face.</p><p> </p><p>              “Priscilla, my angel. Is it…is it really you?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Yes, you silly man. It’s really me.”</p><p> </p><p>              The bard nodded, and then his eyes found Geralt.</p><p> </p><p>              “What…what happened? Did I win?”</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt stared at his friend, lying there bloody in the street but also in the arms of his love.</p><p> </p><p>              “Yeah, Dandelion, you won. Everything came up roses.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Brilliant!” said the bard, flashing his charming smile. “Just like I planned it.”</p><p> </p><p>oOo</p><p> </p><p>Author’s note (February 2021):</p><p>If you’d like to hear my attempt at singing Dandelion’s song, ‘Hello, Life,’ I’ve got it posted on my YouTube channel – Luke1813. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>               Geralt was walking the streets of Novigrad, but he had no real destination in mind. He was lost in his thoughts and simply letting his feet take him where they wanted.</p><p> </p><p>               After the duel with Quentin, the gang had helped Dandelion to the hospital to receive some medical attention. He’d suffered multiple wounds that needed sutures, but the bard had refused the witcher’s offer to stitch them up.</p><p> </p><p>              “No offense, Geralt, but I’ve seen your body. If that’s the best your medical expertise can do, then no thanks. I’d prefer the care of actual doctors.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Fine. Your loss then,” Geralt had growled out. “Chicks dig scars.”</p><p> </p><p>              “I’ve already got the only chick I’ll ever need,” the troubadour had replied, grinning like a love-sick puppy at Priscilla.</p><p> </p><p>              “Hoo, boy. Looks like the pain meds have already kicked in,” said Zoltan. “Or, at least, let’s hope they have. That was a stinker.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Shut your gob, dwarf,” interjected Priscilla with a smile. “It was sweet.”</p><p> </p><p>              The doctor had informed everyone that the bard’s injuries were superficial and that, while he would be in a substantial amount of pain for a few days, he would definitely survive.  However, he also stated that he wanted Dandelion to remain in his care for the next several hours for observation – just in case he had an adverse reaction to the healing medicines that he’d been given.  Priscilla, of course, had decided to stay with her husband-to-be while Zoltan said he needed to get back to the Chameleon. So, at that point, the witcher had left the hospital and had, suddenly, found himself wandering.</p><p> </p><p>              As he roamed the streets, Geralt kept replaying the events at the Golden Sturgeon in his mind, recalling all of Dandelion’s words from both the previous evening and that morning with regards to Priscilla. It seemed as if hell truly had frozen over. For, as shocking as it was to believe, the bard really was in love, and, more so, he was truly committed to spending the rest of his days with just one woman. And not only that – but he was going to be a father, as well.  Geralt shook his head because he honestly couldn’t get his mind wrapped around it all. He’d thought that Dandelion would forever be a bachelor, chasing anything in a dress until he was finally too feeble and decrepit to do so. Hell, Geralt figured that, even after the troubadour had reached an age when he could no longer get any lead in his pencil, he’d still be an incorrigible flirt who’d craft sonnets and sing sappy, romantic ballads to women half his age. That was just who Dandelion was. Or, at least, that’s what Geralt had always believed. Until now.</p><p> </p><p>              The witcher, of course, was happy for his friend - happy that he’d apparently found love. But the idea that Dandelion could possibly change in such a fundamental way was also leaving Geralt feeling a bit melancholy and unsettled, as well. For, even though the two of them could sometimes go years without seeing each other, the thought that Dandelion would always be, well, Dandelion had been comforting for the witcher.  His friendship with the bard was one of the few constants in the world by which he could ‘set his compass,’ and he’d just always assumed that bachelorhood would be something that they’d always have in common.  No matter had much time he’d spent on the Path, the witcher had always known that, once he ran into the Viscount of Lettenhove, things would always be the same. But, now, Dandelion had finally moved on without him, and, in a strange way, Geralt felt as if a part of the bard had died. Or, at least, a part of their friendship had. He realized that, with Dandelion becoming a husband and father, their relationship would be forever changed.</p><p> </p><p>And, suddenly, a trace of loneliness crept into his soul, which caught him off-guard.  For almost his entire life, he’d been alone – traveling from town to town, seeking contracts, just him and Roach.  And, in time, he’d learned to accept that solitary, nomadic lifestyle. But, now, here he was in a bustling city, surrounded by tens of thousands of people, and he thought that he was perhaps feeling more lonely than he’d ever felt when he’d been on the Path.</p><p> </p><p><em>“Life is so damn strange,”</em> he thought to himself.</p><p> </p><p>Geralt eventually made his way to the docks, and he stood by himself at the end of a long pier, simply staring west, out towards the Great Sea. He breathed in deeply, inhaling the salt air, and a cool, autumn breeze blew in off the harbor, letting the city know that winter was just around the corner.  As he stood there, contemplating just what he should do with his unwelcome feelings of melancholy and loneliness, an image of Dandelion and Priscilla flashed in his mind. He recalled them together that morning in front of the Golden Sturgeon – the bard lying on his back in the middle of the street, bleeding out, and her right next to him trying to revive him. At the time, the sight had reminded him of another day, many years prior in Rivia, when he had been the one bleeding out in the street and Yennefer had been trying to bring him back to life. And it was that memory that he dwelled upon now.</p><p> </p><p>A decade or more had passed since then, and he still didn’t understand any better now what had truly happened in the aftermath of the pogrom. He honestly didn’t think that he and Yennefer had died that day in Rivia because, well, the two of them were both still alive.  That was clear. That said, his days with the raven-haired sorceress on that mysterious island covered in apple orchards was just about the only time in their stormy relationship when they had actually gotten along – with no arguments, no hurt feelings, no distrust, no haughtiness or condescending remarks.  Therefore, the island had to have been some type of heavenly paradise, right?  Geralt honestly didn’t know. All that he did know was that it didn’t last.  In the end, things had <em>not</em> come up roses for him and Yennefer like they always seemed to for Dandelion. No matter what stupefyingly idiotic decisions that the bard made, life had always worked out for him. And, frankly, it didn’t seem fair.</p><p> </p><p>“But when has life ever been fair?” he whispered to himself.</p><p> </p><p>He continued to stare out at the sea for a while, thinking back over his life and recalling all of his broken and failed relationships. Doing so brought to mind what he’d told Dandelion that morning.  He exhaled long and slow, slightly nodding his head.</p><p> </p><p>“Maybe you’re your own worst enemy, too.  At least when it comes to romance. So, quit your bitchin’.  If you don’t like the way things are, then do something about it. Change it.”</p><p> </p><p>At that point, the breeze shifted directions for just a second, and the witcher caught a scent that made his mouth water.  He turned his head to see a small shack a couple of piers over, and the sight made him smile. The building wasn’t much to look at.  The sign above the counter was so faded by years in the salt air and wind that it was virtually unreadable, and it looked like the next hard breeze would knock down all four walls. But he’d dined there before so he knew that the shack’s appearance was deceiving.  In his opinion, it was one of the gems of Novigrad. As his stomach growled, he realized that he’d only eaten a bite or two of his breakfast that morning, and he suddenly had an idea. He hoped that perhaps he could find a certain someone special to join him for lunch.</p><p> </p><p>oOo</p><p> </p><p>              Vivienne had spent all morning on Temple Isle. She’d found a tiny – but very pretty - park up there that had suited her purposes perfectly, and she’d enjoyed the bright sun and cool weather as she went about her task at hand.  Around noon, she packed up her supplies and decided to head back to the Chameleon, hoping that perhaps Geralt had returned by then. She was walking up the street, just a short stone’s throw from the cabaret, when she suddenly stopped and smiled. For there he was, also heading towards the Chameleon but from the other direction.  He hadn’t noticed her yet, and so she watched him closely as he walked. The twin swords on his back made it clear exactly what he was so all the passers-by were giving him a wide berth, but if he noticed their wariness, then his face didn’t betray it. As usual, he was completely stoic. But she knew that it was just a façade, that he was just playing the role of the emotionless witcher. He’d probably played the role for so long in his life that it was just second nature to him by now.  But she knew different. In the past few days, he’d dropped the mask with her a few times, so she knew that behind the gruff exterior was a man of kindness, generosity, and insecurity.</p><p> </p><p>              “Geralt!” she called out. </p><p> </p><p>              He stopped and looked her way, and her heart skipped a beat when she saw a large, warm smile come to his face.  He immediately approached.</p><p> </p><p>              “Good morning,” he said. “I was just coming to find you.”</p><p> </p><p>              “And I you.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Must be fate, then.”</p><p> </p><p>              She smiled at that remark, but then her face turned serious.</p><p> </p><p>              “How did it go last night?”</p><p> </p><p>              He shook his head. “It’s a<em> long</em> story. Can we talk about it over lunch?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Yes, that’d be great.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Excellent. There’s a place in the harbor – it’s not much to look at, and, well…it’s no ducal table, but they serve the best clam chowder in all the North.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Now, that’s a bold statement,” she said with a smile. “One which I’m now very curious to find out if it’s true.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, it’s true.”</p><p> </p><p>“Then, lead on.”</p><p> </p><p>              They talked as they walked towards the harbor with Geralt recounting the events since he and Dandelion had left the Chameleon the night before.  Vivienne both laughed and gasped several times.  He had just finished the story as they were approaching the run-down shack on the pier.</p><p> </p><p>“Wow!” exclaimed Vivienne. “What a crazy morning. Is your life always like this?”</p><p> </p><p>              “When Dandelion’s around, yeah, pretty much.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Sounds exhausting,” she said with a smile.</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt nodded. “But rarely boring either. Well, here we are.”</p><p> </p><p>              Vivienne recognized at once that Geralt hadn’t been lying to her. The shack in front of her did not inspire confidence.  It was in poor condition and looked as if it had been constructed decades before she’d been born.  Never in a million years would she have ever chosen to eat at a place like this on her own.  But she was willing to trust Geralt.  The shack was too small to have indoor dining, but there was a long table with a couple of benches nearby.  Despite the appearance, she couldn’t deny that the aroma in the air smelled amazing, and she glanced at the benches again to realize that there wasn’t an empty seat to be found – testimony to the food’s popularity.</p><p> </p><p>              Vivienne followed Geralt to the counter where he ordered two lunch specials from a young man.  He was just pulling out his coin pouch to pay, when she heard a voice from the back.</p><p> </p><p>              “Geralt?!?” came a cry from the interior of the shack. “Geralt of Rivia?”</p><p>              A second later, an incredibly wrinkled old woman came to the counter. She was raw-boned with sunspots and iron-gray hair, and she wore a dirty apron over a thread-bare dress. But despite her obvious age, she also possessed a booming voice and a definite gleam in her eye.  Vivienne decided that – just like with the shack – she would not let herself be deceived by appearances with this woman.</p><p> </p><p>              “I thought that was you!” she said. She wiped her hand on her apron before extending it over the counter towards Geralt.</p><p> </p><p>              “Greetings, Nerlene.”</p><p> </p><p>After they shook hands, she said, “Now, put your coins away.  You know they’re no good here.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Right. I forgot. So, how’s Harlan?”</p><p> </p><p>              Suddenly, the woman’s smile faltered a bit. “He passed on. Couple years back.”</p><p> </p><p>              Vivienne saw Geralt immediately tense up.</p><p> </p><p>              “Was it…?”</p><p> </p><p>              “No, no. Nothing like that. It was just old age. It was his time.”</p><p> </p><p>              Instantly, the witcher relaxed, letting out a low sigh.</p><p> </p><p>              “I’m sorry to hear that.”</p><p> </p><p>              “It’s alright. I’ve got my kids and grandkids to keep me company,” she said, patting the young man behind the counter on the back. “And who’s this pretty gal with you?”</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt introduced the two women, and then the witcher and Nerlene spent the next minute or so catching each other up on their lives. By then, however, there was a line of customers backing up behind Geralt.</p><p> </p><p>              “We’d best stop yapping our mouths,” said Nerlene. “It was great seeing you again.” Then, she looked at Vivienne. “And I hope you treat this man well. He’s one of a kind, he is.”</p><p> </p><p>              “I agree,” answered Vivienne with a smile. “He definitely is.”</p><p> </p><p>              The two took their meals, and since there was no place to sit at the table, they walked a bit up the pier. They found some wooden crates and sat down on them, facing west toward the harbor. Vivienne took a bite of the chowder and couldn’t help but moan in ecstasy. Its flavor was as good as its smell, and it, indeed, might have been the best clam chowder she’d ever tasted. A few minutes later, they were both scraping the bottom of their wooden bowls with their spoons.</p><p> </p><p>              “So, I know it can’t compare to what’s served at the ducal table, but what did you think?”</p><p> </p><p>              When she glanced at him, she could see some genuine concern in his eyes. He clearly wanted her to like it.</p><p> </p><p>              “It was incredible, Geralt. Thank you. I’ll be honest – I was a bit leery at first, but…oh, it was so good.”</p><p> </p><p>              At once, she could see relief come to his face.</p><p>             </p><p>              “Well, I’m glad you liked it.”</p><p> </p><p>              Vivienne put her bowl down and peered intently at the witcher.</p><p> </p><p>              “And just so you know, I don’t care about ducal tables or royal courts or high-class balls.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Really? Because I thought you told me those are the places you’ve been visiting on your travels.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Okay, fair enough. Then, let me rephrase. I don’t <em>need</em> those things to be happy. Okay?”</p><p> </p><p>              “You honestly don’t mind ‘slumming’ with me?”</p><p> </p><p>              He’d asked the question with a smile, but she could tell that it was a serious matter for him.  She wanted to reply, <em>“I’d go anywhere with you,”</em> but she thought that it was way too soon for that type of response. So, instead, she simply said, “Not at all. I’m enjoying it. You’re showing me a side of the city that I never would have experienced on my own.”</p><p> </p><p>              After a pause, she continued. “Can I ask a question?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Of course.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Back at the shack, when Nerlene mentioned that her husband had died, you seemed to have tensed up. Can I ask what that was about?”</p><p> </p><p>              He paused for a moment and swallowed.</p><p> </p><p>              “It’s okay if you’re not comfortable,” she said quickly. “I’m just…I’m just curious about you. That’s all.”</p><p> </p><p>              “No, I…I want to tell you. You’re easy to talk to. Believe it or not, I think I <em>actually</em> enjoy talking with you.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Thank you. I think.”</p><p> </p><p>              They smiled at each other, but a moment later, Geralt turned serious again.</p><p> </p><p>              “Just promise me you won’t make a big deal out of it, okay?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Well, I can’t promise you that, Geralt. But I’ll try, alright?”</p><p> </p><p>              He nodded and then started the story.</p><p> </p><p>              “Many years ago, I was in the area for a contract.  After I’d completed it, I came into the city to spend a few coins from the reward. Nothing special. Just a bottle of vodka. A hot meal. That sort of thing. Anyway, it was late in the evening, and I happened to stumble across Harlan and Nerlene’s shack there. They were about to close up, but they served me anyway. In fact, they gave me everything that was left in the pot but only charged me regular price. So, I’m sitting there by myself at the table, minding my own business, when four or five thugs arrive.  Started hassling Harlan and Nerlene. Turned out these low-lifes had been coming by once a week for months, demanding ‘protection’ money.  Anyway, I politely asked them to leave and to never come back.”</p><p> </p><p>              “And did they?”</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt shook his head.</p><p> </p><p>              “They declined my request.”</p><p> </p><p>              “So, what happened?”</p><p> </p><p>              “They pulled their blades. So, I pulled mine.”</p><p> </p><p>              Vivienne nodded her head. She didn’t need to ask what had happened next, and she doubted that he’d want to talk about the specifics of it, anyway. Instead she asked, “What made you get involved? You could have minded your own business. Simply finished your meal and left.”</p><p> </p><p>              “I can’t abide bullies,” he said. “People who terrorize those who are smaller, weaker. When tyranny comes from monarchs and nobles, well, there’s not much I can do about that. But down here, at the street level, I stand up to it when I see it.”</p><p> </p><p>              “So that’s why she wouldn’t let you pay for our meals.”</p><p> </p><p>              He nodded. “Yeah, but…it doesn’t always end up like that. There have been countless times when I thought I was doing the right thing – helping the oppressed, standing up against injustice – and, instead of coming up roses, it came up…a dung heap.  Thrown out of town and saddled with the moniker, ‘The Butcher of Blaviken.’ That or run through with a pitch fork.’’</p><p> </p><p>              Vivienne furrowed her brow.</p><p> </p><p>              “I don’t understand. If you were helping others, why would they be so ungrateful?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Witchers, as a whole…well, we don’t have the best of reputations. And, to be honest, we’re partly to blame for it. Over the centuries, there have been a lot of us who didn’t handle the Trials well.  Between the mutations and the training, there were many that <em>really</em> were stripped of their humanity. So, now, even when a witcher does ‘good,’ it’s difficult for people to accept it. It’s just easier to see us in a negative light. To expect the worst from us.”</p><p> </p><p>              “But despite that, despite those bad experiences, you still have never stopped standing up to tyranny when you see it, have you?”</p><p> </p><p>              “I guess not,” he said with a shake of his head.</p><p> </p><p>              <em>“Because you’re a bloody, noble hero. Why can’t you just admit it?”</em> she wanted to yell at him. But she’d promised that she wouldn’t make a big deal out of the story. So, instead she just said, “Thank you for sharing that with me, Geralt. I appreciate it.”</p><p> </p><p>              He nodded and then looked at her with one of the saddest smiles she’d ever seen.</p><p> </p><p>              “You know…I’d really like a ‘happily ever after’ just one time in my life. I think that would be nice.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Me, too, Geralt. I’d like that, too.”</p><p> </p><p>              “But maybe that’s asking too much, huh? Maybe, in this world, the best we can hope for is just…’happily right now.’’’</p><p> </p><p>              “Maybe. But that sounds pretty good, too.”</p><p> </p><p>              The two of them stared at one another for a moment before he suddenly cleared his throat and said, “Well, enough about me. Now, it’s your turn. Tell me, what’s in your satchel? I don’t know much about fashion, but I know that’s not a typical hand-bag for a lady-in-waiting.”</p><p> </p><p>              Vivienne smiled. “You would be correct. I carry my art supplies in here.”</p><p> </p><p>              “You’re an artist? That’s great.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Oh, are you an art aficionado?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Aficionado? Not hardly. But I do know the difference between a van Rogh and a van der Knoob.”</p><p> </p><p>              Vivienne couldn’t help but laugh. Geralt continued to surprise her – pleasantly.</p><p> </p><p>              “Well, look at you!”</p><p> </p><p>              “Hey, don’t be too impressed. When you’re my age…well, there’s all kinds of useless knowledge rolling around in my head. So, can I see some of your work?”</p><p> </p><p>              Her instinct was to say no, because she rarely showed her artwork to anyone. But she actually wanted to share what she’d done with him.</p><p> </p><p>              “I don’t normally, but for you? Okay. Since you told me the story about Harlan and Nerlene. I guess I owe you.”</p><p> </p><p>              She pulled out a large sketch book and opened it towards the back.</p><p> </p><p>              “This is what I drew this morning,” she said, biting her lip, and then she passed the book over to Geralt. “Be kind, please. It’s not finished.”</p><p> </p><p>              She watched him as his eyes moved all over the drawing. A pencil drawing of her kneeling down in front of a large wolf in the middle of a beautiful meadow. For over a minute, he said nothing, and then, finally, a smile came to his face and he looked at her.</p><p> </p><p>              “This is amazing. You’re incredibly talented.”</p><p> </p><p>              “You really think so?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Yes, I do. And you just started drawing this this morning?”</p><p> </p><p>              She nodded and bit her lip again, unsure if she should tell him. <em>‘No regrets, Vivienne,</em>’ she told herself.</p><p> </p><p>              “I had the most vivid dream last night.” And then she went on to retell the events. When she came to the end of it, she smiled shyly. “It’s obviously about you, but, if so, then I don’t know why I dreamt of a wolf instead of just dreaming of you. I mean, I know your nickname is the White Wolf, but still.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Who knows why we dream what we do?” he said with a shrug. “I think most of the time it’s just nonsensical stuff.”</p><p> </p><p>              “<em>Most</em> of the time?”</p><p> </p><p>              “There have a been a few instances in my life when it was more.  I can’t explain how it happened, but I’ve had some dreams that were part vision or warning…or, maybe, prophetic. But those were really rare.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Did you know they were prophetic when you had them?”</p><p> </p><p>              “No, I only figured it out after-the-fact.” He then smiled. “Which wasn’t really helpful.”</p><p> </p><p>              She smiled along with him. “Yeah, I’d guess not.”</p><p> </p><p>              He then swallowed hard.      </p><p> </p><p>              “I’ve, uh, I’ve had a couple dreams about you, too,”</p><p> </p><p>              “Really?” She couldn’t believe just how good hearing that made her feel.</p><p> </p><p>              He nodded.</p><p> </p><p>              “The first one was just a few weeks ago. The night before I got Dandelion’s wedding invitation in fact.”</p><p> </p><p>              “What was it about? Do you remember?”</p><p> </p><p>              Suddenly, a strange look came to his face.  If she didn’t know any better, she’d say he looked embarrassed.</p><p> </p><p>              “What? You can tell me. I promise I won’t laugh.”</p><p> </p><p>              “I’m not real worried about you laughing. It’s just…okay. I dreamt about the night I broke your curse.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Is that right? Had you ever dreamt about that before? About…us?”</p><p> </p><p>              “No. Was the first time. And I dreamt it just a few weeks before I ran into you here. Strange, huh?”</p><p> </p><p>              She nodded.</p><p> </p><p>              “And, uh, in the dream, I dreamt that, well, that we kissed.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Really?” Then she smiled. “Hmm, prophetic, indeed. Anything else?”</p><p> </p><p>              He swallowed hard again and shook his head.</p><p> </p><p>              “I think that’s enough for now. So, how long have you been drawing?”</p><p> </p><p>              It was obvious that he was changing the subject on purpose, and, even though she desperately wanted to know more about the dreams he’d had of her, she wasn’t going to press him. He clearly didn’t want to discuss them any further so she was going to respect his decision. She wanted him to feel safe with her so she decided to drop the topic and answer his question instead.</p><p> </p><p>              “I started when I was a little girl. My parents said that I always loved drawing, even when I was a toddler. So, as a grew up, they continued to buy me more and more art supplies. Then, when I was maybe seven or eight, I actually started taking lessons from a local artist.  It was so much fun. Of course, later, it became my refuge.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Your refuge?”</p><p> </p><p>              She nodded.</p><p> </p><p>              “When I became a teenager and my curse started to manifest itself…my life changed drastically. I, more or less, stopped visiting friends and relatives. Friends could come over, but they had to leave before sundown. I became withdrawn and started to isolate myself – especially at night. I was terrified that someone would find out. So, drawing and painting became more than just a hobby. My art became almost therapeutic. It’s where I poured out all my emotions. My anger, my fear. My sadness and hopes. I’m not sure I would have made it without having that outlet. Well, my parents, too. They were an incredible support for me, but when you’re a teenager, you want more than that. You want friends your age that you can connect with. You want to meet young knights at high-society balls. I began to imagine I was a princess in a fairy-tale. Locked up in a tower prison by a wicked witch, waiting for my prince charming to come save me. But he never did.  Years and years went by – more than a decade – but he never arrived.”</p><p> </p><p>              At that point, she shook her head and let out a small laugh, but there was no joy in it.</p><p> </p><p>“I bet I must have painted a hundred scenes of me at the tower window, looking down at my prince charming in shining armor and flowing cape on the ground below. But he never came.”</p><p> </p><p>              “I’m sorry, Vivienne. I’m sorry you had to go through that.  That…you felt so lonely.”</p><p> </p><p>              “It’s okay,” she said, and then she reached over and tenderly squeezed his hand. “My knight showed up eventually.”</p><p> </p><p>              They only gazed at one another for an instant before they both leaned in and kissed.  She gripped his hand tightly and brought her other hand up to his chest, and she let her lips melt into his. That morning, she’d told herself that she wanted a man who could make her heart thump just from a simple touch. Well, Geralt was definitely that man. For, in that moment, her entire body was reacting to him. She’d never met anyone who made her feel that way, and, though it made no sense to her, she wished that, somehow, the two of them could fuse into one flesh. She didn’t even know what that really meant. She just knew that she longed for it.</p><p> </p><p>              “Oi, get a room!” she heard someone say, followed by laughter.</p><p> </p><p>              She opened her eyes as the two of them broke their kiss. She looked to see a couple of passers-by strolling along the pier, having just walked past them.</p><p> </p><p>              “I suppose we are making a bit of a scene,” she said. <em>‘But I don’t care,’</em> she thought. ‘<em>Life’s too short.’</em></p><p>
  
</p><p>“Would you…” and then he hesitated for a moment, “would you like to go back to the Chameleon? For some privacy?”</p><p> </p><p>              For a second, she wondered exactly what he had in mind. Did he want to go somewhere private so that they could continue talking or for something more?  Then, she realized she didn’t really care. She wanted both.</p><p> </p><p>              “Yes. Definitely, yes,” she said, and she started to stand.</p><p> </p><p>              “Wait. Before we go, I want to discuss one thing with you.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Okay,” she said sitting back down.</p><p> </p><p>              “Yesterday, at lunch, we talked about us, and I basically tried to talk you out of being with me.”</p><p> </p><p>              “I remember.”</p><p> </p><p>              “So, I’m not trying to do that again, now. But I do want to be completely honest with you. To make sure that I’m totally upfront with you before this…we…goes any further.  Because the last thing I want to do is hurt you in any way.  I’ve done way too much of that in my life.”</p><p> </p><p>              “I’d prefer not to get hurt,” she said with a smile.</p><p> </p><p>              “Right. So…I’ve decided to follow your philosophy of just enjoying the moment. Of simply enjoying your company and not worrying about the future.  But I also want you to know that, as of right now, I still plan to return to Toussaint in two days. I’ve got to get back to my vineyard. I’ve put too much hard work into it these past two years for it to fail now. It has to succeed because…I don’t want to go back to the Path. Ever again. I’m done with it. Done with the killing.  Done with the wandering. With having no home.” He paused and sighed. “I know I’m rambling a bit.  I just…I want you to know that I want to spend as much time with you as possible in these next two days, but if doing so is going to make our goodbye too painful, then…I understand if you’d prefer to just say goodbye now instead.”</p><p> </p><p>              Vivienne squeezed his hand and brought her other one up to caress his cheek. She looked into his face and saw a man that she could fall in love with. If she was completely honest with herself, then she had to admit that she might already be falling in love with him. She leaned in and gave him a short, gentle kiss.</p><p> </p><p>              “Thank you, Geralt, for being considerate of my feelings. But I want to spend as much time with you as possible, as well. To have a ‘happily right now.’ And if that makes our goodbye more painful, then so be it.  It’ll be worth it. So, yes, I still want to go back to the cabaret with you.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Okay,” he said, grabbing their bowls. “Then, let’s go.”</p><p> </p><p>              They swung by Nerlene’s to drop off the bowls and spoons, said a final goodbye to her, and then began slowly walking hand-in-hand through the busy streets.  And they continued to talk as they headed back to the cabaret.</p><p> </p><p>              “Dandelion’s wedding is tomorrow, right?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Yeah, tomorrow night.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Well, surely, between now and then, he won’t be able to get you into anymore -”</p><p> </p><p>              “Whoa, whoa!” interrupted Geralt with a smile. “Stop right there. Don’t say it. ‘Cause you might jinx me. I don’t need you tempting fate.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Okay,” she replied with her own smile. “I won’t say anything. Other than, I hope you have a stress-free time between now and then.”</p><p> </p><p>              “From your mouth to fate’s ears.  But you know what – I was thinking about this entire situation this morning, and I don’t think this whole fiasco was <em>completely</em> Dandelion’s fault. I’m in no way excusing his actions at all, but I realized that most of this mess could have probably been avoided if Priscilla had just told Dandelion the truth in the beginning. Told him she was pregnant as soon as she suspected it. I still don’t understand why she kept it a secret.”</p><p> </p><p>              “I thought you said that she explained why she didn’t tell him when you were taking him to the hospital.”</p><p> </p><p>              “She did. I just still don’t really understand.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Would you like a woman’s point of view?”</p><p> </p><p>              “It might help.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Well, I think she didn’t tell him because she wanted to know that, if Dandelion married her, it was because of love and not out of a sense of duty or obligation.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Right. That’s what she said, but I say, ‘What does it really matter?’ Regardless of the underlying motivation, the result would have still been the same – they’d have gotten married either way, which is what she wanted.”</p><p> </p><p>              “True, but, as a woman, I think that she might have felt more safe and secure knowing that the foundation of the marriage – their relationship – was based upon love and not on something else. Because love is supposed to be eternal, right? It’s supposed to last.”</p><p> </p><p>              “It’s supposed to, but it doesn’t. Not always. In fact, in my experience, it rarely does.  Personally, I’m not sure that love is any more enduring than any other emotion. I’d argue that a promise based on duty or honor – or hatred - can be just as strong, if not stronger, as one based on <em>professed</em> love.”</p><p>             </p><p>              “Fair enough. Maybe. But even if that’s true, it’s not near as romantic. And face it, women like romance.”</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt just grunted and nodded his head at that.</p><p> </p><p>              “What about you?” she asked.</p><p> </p><p>              “What <em>about </em>me?”</p><p> </p><p>              “If you were in a relationship, would you prefer that the woman was with you out of love or a sense of duty?”</p><p> </p><p>              Vivienne watched him as he furrowed his brows and looked away for a moment, clearly lost in thought.  Eventually, he brought his eyes back to hers.</p><p> </p><p>              “I honestly don’t think I’d care.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Really?”</p><p> </p><p>              “I think that all I’d really care about is how she treated me.  I was in an off-and-on relationship with a woman for a long time, a lot of years.  It was pretty rocky. And she claimed to love me. I can remember her saying those words, but…she just didn’t treat me very well. So, if I was ever in a relationship again, I think that I’d just want to be treated with respect and kindness.  That’s all. And if her actions were born out of love, great. But if they were born from something else – like duty or honor or just common decency – I honestly think I’d be fine with that, too. How she or I chose to label her underlying motivation just wouldn’t matter much to me.</p><p> </p><p>“I guess after everything I’ve been through in life…words just don’t mean a whole lot to me anymore. People lie and break promises all the time. It’s their actions that matter. Their actions – over time – will prove if what they profess is actually true. It’s why, a couple of days ago when you bought me that bottle of vodka and the mask, it meant so much to me. And, yesterday, when you were willing to stitch up my back and wipe the filth from my face…that meant a lot, too.” He then sighed deeply. “Hell, I don’t know – maybe I’m not making any sense.”</p><p> </p><p>“No, Geralt, you are. ‘Don’t tell me you love me. Just show me. Because if you show me, then you’ll never even need to say the words.’”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah. Exactly. Did you come up with that?”</p><p> </p><p>“No. My father. Mother told me that he said that to her in the early days of their relationship.”</p><p> </p><p>“Sounds like a wise man,” said Geralt with a smile.</p><p> </p><p>“He is.”</p><p> </p><p>“And much more eloquent than me.”</p><p> </p><p>“He is decent and honorable, too. I think you two would get along well.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Perhaps. And he and your mother – they’re still together?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Almost thirty years now.”                                                </p><p> </p><p>              “Happily?”</p><p> </p><p>              Vivienne laughed.</p><p> </p><p>              “Yes, they’re still very much in love.”</p><p> </p><p>              “So, ‘happily ever afters’ are possible. You know, men and women, we’re so different - our personalities, how we view the world. Sometimes, I think it’s a miracle that any relationship actually lasts.”</p><p> </p><p>              “You might be right. Mother once said that – despite the affection they have for one another – they still had some difficult times.  She said it’s because, even if two people are hopelessly in love, the problem is that they’re still in love with a flawed and sometimes selfish person.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Yeah. No one can hurt you quite as much as the one you love.”</p><p> </p><p>              “It’s why she said that making the relationship last takes a lot of patience and forgiveness – both asking for it and giving it.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Your mother sounds wise, as well.”</p><p> </p><p>              She nodded.</p><p> </p><p>              “She is. You know, despite growing up with a curse, there was one area where I always felt blessed – my parents.  They were such wonderful role models for me. They showed me just what a healthy, loving marriage should look like. And I’ll be forever grateful for that.”</p><p> </p><p>              She noticed that a sad smile came to his face.</p><p> </p><p>              “Yeah…that must’ve been nice.”</p><p> </p><p>              She bit her lip for moment, unsure if she should ask what she wanted to know. Because she knew that she might be digging into some very personal territory.</p><p> </p><p>              “I…I don’t mean to pry, but…what about you? What were your parents like? If you don’t mind talking about it, that is.”</p><p> </p><p>              She didn’t know why exactly, but something told her that their childhood experiences had been very different. He didn’t answer immediately. He simply stared her into the eyes for a moment before giving a tiny nod of his head. He’d clearly been deciding what to say.</p><p> </p><p>              “I never knew my father. Don’t even know his name. My mother I remember, but…I wasn’t with her long. I was taken to Kaer Morhen when I was really young. So…my role models – the witcher cadre - were <em>a lot</em> different than yours. That’s for certain.”</p><p> </p><p>              He then went on to give her a short summary of his time growing up at the witcher fortress. She could tell that he was sparing her the details, but even so, it was clear that he’d suffered tremendous abuse and trauma as a child, and it caused her heart to break for him. And hearing about his formative years explained a lot for her. It helped her to understand the man that he was now and just where his insecurity came from.  For it sounded as if he’d experienced very little kindness and love growing up. But if that were true, then she was amazed that he carried so much empathy and compassion for others. And she wondered where those qualities had come from.</p><p> </p><p>She stopped walking and tugged on his hand so that he had to stop, too. She wanted to say how sorry she was that he’d had to go through all of that. That it all seemed so unfair. But she remembered what he’d said earlier. So, instead of saying anything, she stepped up close to him, caressed his cheek, and then kissed him lightly on the lips.</p><p> </p><p>              “Not that I’m complaining, but what was that for?”</p><p> </p><p>              “I just wanted to <em>show</em> you I care.”</p><p> </p><p>              He gave her a small, warm smile.</p><p> </p><p>              “Thank you, Vivienne. I…I care about you, too.”</p><p> </p><p>              That brought a beaming smile to her face, and then they kissed again before continuing on their way. A moment later, they stepped into Hierarch Square, and a cacophony of voices assaulted them.</p><p> </p><p>              “Everyone, to me! To me!”</p><p> </p><p>              “Why buy tomorrow what you can buy today?!?”</p><p> </p><p>              “The best deals this side of the Pontar!”</p><p> </p><p>              “Don’t think twice! Just buy!”</p><p> </p><p>              There were countless merchants in their stalls, and all of them were doing their best to attract the attention of the passers-by.  Virtually every good under the sun was being hawked – shoes; books; rugs; a variety of meats, fish, and vegetables; kitchen utensils; useless household items; and much more. Adding to the noise were all the street artists – musicians, jugglers, painters, fire-swallowers, and the like. A priest of the Church of the Eternal Fire was standing on a wooden crate, admonishing any of the towns-folk who were willing to listen. City guardsmen were milling about, and little girls, playing hopscotch, laughed loudly while young boys yelled out fake insults as they played ‘knight-and-bandits’ with wooden, play swords. Vivienne felt Geralt squeeze her hand a bit tighter, and then he pulled her close to his side as they entered that mass of humanity.</p><p> </p><p>              “Great values! Candles, ink wells, razor blades, and jewelry! I’ve got it all!” shouted a vendor at a nearby stall.</p><p> </p><p>              “Can we stop for a second?” Geralt asked. “I’d like to look at something.”</p><p> </p><p>              Vivienne agreed, and a moment later, Geralt was speaking to the local merchant.</p><p> </p><p>              “Greetings. I heard you mention that you sell jewelry. Do you have any rings?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Only the <em>greatest</em> selection in all of Novigrad.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Right,” said Geralt dryly. “Let me see what you got.”</p><p> </p><p>              She was just about to ask why he was looking at rings when she was shoved from behind and knocked to the ground. And, suddenly, her world turned to chaos, with loud shouting filling the air.  She winced in pain as she raised herself up from the cobblestones and saw that Geralt was on the ground with about a half-dozen men on top of him. He was on his back with a man holding every appendage.</p><p> </p><p>              “Grab his swords! Don’t let him draw his swords!” one of the men yelled.</p><p> </p><p>              “It’s Letho of Gulet. Get the city guards!” shouted another.</p><p> </p><p>              One of the attackers had just unbuckled the strap of Geralt’s scabbards when two of the men shouted out in incredible pain. And a moment later, Vivienne noticed that their clothes were on fire.  They instantly jumped off the witcher and began rolling around on the ground, and as soon as they did, he raised himself up and forcefully threw both of his hands downward.  A telekinetic force blasted everyone – including herself – backwards several feet. By the time she righted herself, when she looked up, Geralt was on his feet, and the entirety of Hierarch Square was filled with screams of terror as townsfolk fled in every direction.</p><p> </p><p>              “It’s Letho of Gulet!”</p><p> </p><p>              “It’s the king slayer! Run for you lives!”</p><p> </p><p>              Before his attackers could get back to their feet and surround him, she watched him run over to two boys who’d been playing ‘knight-and-bandits.’ The lads were rooted to the ground with their mouths open – dumbstruck by what they were watching.  Geralt snatched the wooden swords from their hands, and when he looked up, Vivienne’s eyes widened and she swallowed hard. The witcher had smile on his face, but it was one of pure malice.</p><p> </p><p>              He swiveled both swords at his sides and growled out, “Come get some.”</p><p> </p><p>              In a flash, he advanced on his attackers, who all carried clubs or rusty blades. And though she’d seen the witcher wield a sword on the stage at the Passiflora, that was nothing compared to what she was watching now. He whirled between the men so fast that he was almost a blur, and as he did, the enemies howled in pain as he smacked his wooden swords against their skulls, wrists, and groins. A moment later, a couple of the men lay on the ground moaning in the fetal position, and two others had dropped their swords and were cradling their broken wrists against their chests.  The remainder were still armed and glaring at the witcher, but they looked dazed and were holding their heads where he’d just whacked them.  To Vivienne’s eyes, none of them looked as if they wanted to continue the fight.</p><p> </p><p>              At that point, Geralt walked over to where his witcher swords lay on the ground. He tossed the wooden, play swords aside and grabbed his steel blade. The snarl returned to his face.</p><p> </p><p>              “Drop your weapons and leave. Otherwise, you’re just a few moments away from death.”</p><p> </p><p>              Immediately, the attackers threw their swords and clubs to the ground and fled from the square. A second later, Geralt scooped up his silver sword and empty scabbard and ran toward Vivienne.</p><p> </p><p>              “Are you okay? Are you hurt?” he asked as he knelt in front of her.  His eyes were frantically scanning her body for any blood or injuries.</p><p> </p><p>              “Just my hand. Nothing else.”</p><p> </p><p>She showed him her bloody palm from where she’d scraped it against the cobblestones when she’d fallen, and his face instantly went cold. She could see the murder in his eyes so she grabbed his hands.</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t, Geralt. I don’t know who they are, but they’re not worth it. It’s just a little scrape, okay?  I fine. Honestly, I’m fine.”</p><p> </p><p>She stared him in the eyes and willed him to calm down.  Eventually, he unclenched his jaws and gave a little nod of his head, at which point she exhaled in relief.  But her relief was short-lived because a moment later she heard the sound of men in metal armor approaching. She looked past Geralt to see at least a dozen city guards all pointing crossbows in his direction.</p><p> </p><p>“Letho of Gulet, drop your swords and surrender!” yelled one of the guards. “Or we will use deadly force.”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt took in the situation and then turned back to Vivienne.</p><p> </p><p>“Find Dandelion or Zoltan,” he said, handing her his swords. “Listen close. My name is Ravix of Fourhorn. Got it? Ravix of Fourhorn. And whatever they do, tell them not contact Dijkstra. Okay? Don’t contact Dijkstra.”</p><p> </p><p>Before she could answer, he turned and slowly walked towards the guards with his hands out to his sides. They quickly shackled his wrists in chains and marched him off. Before he was even out of sight, Vivienne was running as fast as she could for the Chameleon.</p><p> </p><p>oOo</p><p> </p><p>              <em>“Whatever benefit I get from Dandelion’s friendship…is it really worth the trouble?”</em></p><p>
  
</p><p>That was the question that Geralt had been asking himself for the past couple of hours as he sat inside of a foul cell of the Novigrad city jail. Which was actually a new experience for him. He’d seen the interior of a lot of jails in his life – those of Rinde, Vizima, Oxenfurt, La Valette castle, just to name a few – but this was his first time inside of the Novigrad jail. And he didn’t particularly like it any better than he had the others.  And he was there all because of Dandelion’s mouth.</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt had recognized the men that had attacked him in Hierarch Square because he’d confronted them before - at the Seven Cats Inn.  He gritted his teeth and shook his head at the thought of Dandelion telling Cletus and his boys that he – Geralt – was Letho of Gulet, the most wanted man in the North.  Of all the dumb things he could have said, that had to be near the top. And it was bad enough that he was in jail due to the bard, but now he was having to rely on the knucklehead to somehow get him out. The witcher had absolutely no confidence that he’d be able to do so.  In fact, he figured that somehow the poet would end up making the situation worse.</p><p> </p><p>              He’d told the city guards that he wasn’t Letho of Gulet. That it was all a mistake. That his name was Ravix of Fourhorn and that he’d been defending himself. But they’d simply told him to shut-up. </p><p> </p><p>              “The captain will get to the bottom of this,” they’d said. “He don’t need your help.”</p><p> </p><p>              He hadn’t revealed his true identity to the guardsmen due to his confrontation with Dijkstra two night before.  For he had no doubt that the Chancellor had already told the city guards to contact him immediately if a certain Geralt of Rivia happened to run afoul of the law.  And if that happened, then that ‘favor’ that Dijkstra wanted from Geralt would suddenly turn into an obligation – his payment for getting out of jail.</p><p> </p><p>              The sound of a far-away door opening on its metal hinges brought Geralt out of his musings, and few moments later, Dandelion himself stood in front of the bars of the witcher’s cell.</p><p> </p><p>              “You just can’t seem to stay out of trouble, can you?” the bard said with a big smile on his face.</p><p> </p><p>              “I’m in here because of you, dumbass,” he growled.</p><p> </p><p>              “Now, now. There’s no use trying to blame others. Personal accountability – that’s the key to wisdom and growth, I always say.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Since when? Besides, I’m not trying to blame you. I <em>am</em> blaming you. Cletus and his goons are the ones who attacked me. And why? Because of your fat mouth. They thought I was Letho.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Yes, yes. We’ve already gone over that. I told you it wasn’t my fault. But that’s neither here nor there. The bottom line is you’re in trouble – again. And <em>once</em> again, I have to come to your rescue.”</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt just stared at the bard and shook his head.</p><p> </p><p>              “Right.”</p><p> </p><p>“What would you ever do without me?”</p><p> </p><p>“I’ve been asking myself that very question for the last few hours. So, did you talk to the captain, tell him I’m not Letho?”</p><p> </p><p>“I did. Vivienne was clear regarding your instructions. Though, to be honest, I don’t really understand the need for all the subterfuge.  But, regardless, I informed him that you were not Letho of Gulet, but rather, one Ravix of Fourhorn, an old friend of mine.”</p><p> </p><p>“And?”</p><p> </p><p>“He said that my word didn’t count for much! That he was very aware of who I was and, therefore, I wasn’t exactly credible.  Can you believe it?”</p><p> </p><p>“Shocking.”</p><p> </p><p>“I know! So, I found someone whose word he would believe.”</p><p> </p><p>At that point, Geralt heard a woman’s voice echoing down the hallway.  He craned his head to peer through the bars and saw Keira Metz walking his way.</p><p> </p><p>“Damn it, Dandelion,” he hissed. “I told you not to contact Dijkstra.”</p><p> </p><p>The bard furrowed his brows.</p><p> </p><p>“And I didn’t. Do you see him here?”</p><p> </p><p>“Keira’s on his bloody council, damn it. What she knows, he knows.”</p><p> </p><p>“Relax, Geralt. Relax,” said Dandelion with a large smile. “Have I ever let you down?”</p><p> </p><p>“Just this week? Or since I’ve known you?”</p><p> </p><p>Before the poet could respond, Keira arrived and peered at Geralt through the bars.  The captain of the guard had accompanied her down to the dungeon.</p><p> </p><p>“So, Lady Metz, do you recognize him?” he asked.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, I do, indeed,” she answered with a sly smile.</p><p> </p><p><em>‘Terrific,’</em> thought Geralt. <em>‘Just bloody terrific. Looks like I’ll be heading to the chancellor’s palace next.’</em></p><p> </p><p>              “This man is none other than Sir Ravix of Fourhorn, an upstanding citizen and a very dear friend of mine. I am quite confident that he was in no way responsible for the kerfuffle in the square.”</p><p> </p><p>              <em>‘Wait, what?’</em> thought Geralt. <em>“Did she just lie for me?’</em></p><p> </p><p>              Geralt blinked his eyes and looked from Keira to Dandelion. The bard was simply standing there with a knowing grin on his face.</p><p> </p><p>              “Well, uh, of course, Lady Metz,” stammered the captain. “We’ve got several eye-witnesses that stated, uh, Sir Ravix here was simply defending himself.  We just wasn’t sure of his identity. There was some confusion about that. Some said Letho of Gulet. Others said he was Geralt of Rivia. But, if you say he’s Sir Ravix of Fourhorn, then, of course, it must be true.”</p><p> </p><p>              Keira turned to face the captain and flashed him a smile. “Yes, it must.”</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt didn’t know exactly what was going on, but he knew better than to open his mouth at the moment.  A few minutes later, he was processed out of the jail, and the three of them exited the building and walked a block down the street. </p><p> </p><p>              “In here,” Dandelion said, pointing to a small alleyway.</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt turned into the alley to see Vivienne waiting for him.  She rushed towards him, and for a second, he thought she was going to jump into his arms. But at the last moment, she paused and glanced at Dandelion and Keira. She calmly reached for his hand and squeezed it tenderly.</p><p> </p><p>              “It’s good to see you,” she said.</p><p> </p><p>              “You, too,” said Geralt before turning to the sorceress. “Let me guess – you lied for me back there because you need a favor. A favor dealing with the wife of the Ofieri ambassador?”</p><p> </p><p>              “No, Geralt. You’ve already done me plenty of favors,” she said.  And then her faced slowly transformed into that of Dudu Biberveldt’s. </p><p> </p><p>              “Ha!” exclaimed Dandelion, slapping Geralt on the shoulder. “I told you to trust me! When have I ever let you down!?!”</p><p> </p><p>oOo</p><p> </p><p>              Song and laughter permeated the air of the Chameleon, and Vivienne was definitely caught up in the festive mood.  It had been close to sundown by the time Dandelion and Dudu had rescued Geralt from jail, and at that point, they’d all headed back to the cabaret.  For the past couple of hours, Dandelion, Priscilla, and a large group of their friends had been sitting at a long table on the second-floor balcony that overlooked the musicians on the stage down below. It was a night of great food, strong spirits, and humorous tales, and Vivienne – sitting next to Geralt – was loving every minute of it.</p><p> </p><p>              Dandelion was naturally the center of attention, regaling everyone with a variety of stories – stories that made him look good, of course. But unfortunately for the bard, he had too many friends present to let him get away with his ‘poetic license.’  Priscilla, Zoltan, Geralt, Dudu, Elihal, and everyone else at the table would quickly reveal the truth of the tale and put the troubadour in his place. Vivienne laughed at virtually all the stories, but the ones she loved the most were those that involved the witcher.  It was enlightening to hear others speak of Geralt; to get a glimpse at just how they viewed him. And it quickly became apparent to her that they all held him in just as high esteem as she did.</p><p> </p><p>Her favorite story had been the one in which Geralt had been forced to act in a play in order to, ultimately, save Dandelion from certain death. It seemed as if almost everyone at the table had been involved in that adventure in some small way. So, it was a delight to hear them all chime in at various points to voice their different perspectives and memories of what had actually transpired. Towards the end of the tale, a woman named Irina Renarde asked Geralt if he remembered his lines from the play, and even though he said that he didn’t, they were still able to pressure him into standing up and trying to recite them.  It had been years since the play so, of course, he flubbed virtually every one, but that just made the entire story all the more humorous.</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt had been resting his hand on her leg most of the night, and she loved his touch. Loved that he wanted to touch her. And throughout the evening, she would routinely reach down and gently give his hand a squeeze just to let him know how much she was enjoying his company.</p><p> </p><p>              There was a lull in the story-telling, and the band below started playing a ballad – at which point, Dandelion and Priscilla arose from the table and began to slow dance nearby.</p><p>Several others in the party joined them. </p><p> </p><p>              “Do you dance, Geralt?” Vivienne asked, biting her lower lip.</p><p> </p><p>              “You’ve seen my dancing skills – at the Passiflora,” he said with a smile.</p><p> </p><p>              She smiled with him and said, “But that was different. With slow dancing, you can just hold me tight and we can sway to the music.”</p><p> </p><p>              He paused for a moment, simply staring into her eyes before finally giving a small nod of his head.</p><p> </p><p>              “Would you do me the honor of dancing with me, Lady Vivienne?”</p><p> </p><p>              “I thought you’d never ask,” she said with a smile.</p><p> </p><p>              They rose from the bench and moved a few paces away, and then he grasped her hand in his and pulled her close. He bent his head so that their cheeks brushed against each other and his mouth was close to her ear.</p><p> </p><p>              “It’s no ducal ball – no rubbing elbows with nobles and knights – but are you having a good time?” he whispered.</p><p> </p><p>              “Immensely.”</p><p> </p><p>              The truth was that she’d never been happier. For the past two years, she’d been traveling the Continent under the pretense of exploring new lands and ‘expanding her horizons.’  But she saw now that she’d actually been searching for something much more meaningful.  Unconsciously, she’d been searching for the same thing that she’d been desiring for her entire life. And dancing there in Geralt’s arms, she knew she’d finally found it. She’d found him. He was everything that she’d never even known she’d wanted.</p><p> </p><p>She gave his hand a gentle squeeze and breathed in deeply, inhaling his masculine scent. She didn’t really understand how, but just the way he smelled made her body respond. It was almost animalistic. And having her breasts pressed close to his chest and his breath in her ear was making it worse.  And, suddenly, an image of him in his blue thong flashed in her mind.</p><p> </p><p><em>“Get control of yourself,”</em> she thought. <em>“Now’s not the time.”</em></p><p> </p><p>              “And I really like your friends,” she said after a moment, hoping to get her mind off his body. “They’re so down-to-earth and unpretentious. Well, Dandelion’s a bit pretentious, but I think I’ve started to come around with him. He’s got a certain charm.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Yeah, he’s got his moments.”</p><p> </p><p>              The two of them continued to dance for the rest of that ballad and another. And, then, another song began with nothing but the slow picking of the lute strings. When the singer’s voice reached the second floor, she heard the witcher groan, and he suddenly stopped dancing, moving his body away from hers.</p><p> </p><p>              “I’m sorry, Vivienne, but I can’t dance with you to this song.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Okay,” she said, a bit confused.</p><p> </p><p>              After they moved back towards the table he said, “Actually, I need to head outside for a bit. Take care of business, okay?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Alright. Hurry back.”</p><p> </p><p>              After watching Geralt head down the stairs, she moved to the edge of the balcony and peered down at the stage below, listening closely to the singer’s words.</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>‘I know not if fate would have us live as one, </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Or if by love’s blind chance, we’ve been bound,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The wish I whispered when it all began,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Did it forge a love you might never have found?</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>‘You flee my dream come the morning,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Your scent berries tart, lilac sweet,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>              To dream of raven locks, entwisted, stormy, </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Of violet eyes, glistening as you weep.’</em>
</p><p> </p><p>              When the song ended, she sat back down and looked across the table at Dandelion and Priscilla, who’d returned from dancing, as well.</p><p> </p><p>              “That was strange,” Vivienne said to them. “Do you know why Geralt wouldn’t like that song?”</p><p> </p><p>              “What? He doesn’t?” asked Dandelion, disbelief clear in his voice. “You’d think he’d love it. It’s about him.”</p><p> </p><p>              “It is?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Yes, of course. Are you saying you’ve never heard it before?”</p><p> </p><p>              “I…I don’t think so.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Unbelievable. It’s one of my most popular.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Our,” corrected Priscilla. “<em>Our</em> most popular.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Right. Of course, sugarplum.” Dandelion then turned back to Vivienne. “Priscilla and I wrote it together.”</p><p> </p><p>              “And it’s about him?”</p><p> </p><p>              “And Yennefer,” said the bard matter-of-factly. “He’s told you about her, right?”</p><p> </p><p>              Vivienne swallowed and slowly shook her head.</p><p> </p><p>              “He…he hasn’t mentioned anyone by that name.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Really? Well, that’s odd. She’s only the woman that he’s had a relationship with for the past twenty-five years.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Had,” interjected Priscilla pointedly. “He <em>had</em> a relationship with her. They’re not together anymore.”</p><p> </p><p>              “And thank the gods for that,” added the bard. “For the longest time, he thought the witch was the love of his life.”</p><p> </p><p>              “He did?” Vivienne was suddenly feeling a pit in her stomach.</p><p> </p><p>              “Oh, yes.  They were totally wrong for each other, but he just couldn’t see it. Or he did and just refused to <em>admit</em> it.  If you want my opinion, their relationship was a disaster from the beginning, but I will say this for it – it made for epic poetry. As evidenced by the beautiful song you just heard.  It was the kind of tragic love found in Pakesheare’s plays. The public just eats that kind of stuff up.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Dandelion, let’s change the subject, shall we?” said Priscilla, first glancing at the bard before looking across the table at Vivienne.  “I really doubt she wants to hear about Geralt’s past love-life.”</p><p> </p><p>              “No, no. I…I’m glad you told me,” Vivienne answered, putting on a fake smile.</p><p> </p><p>              At that point, Dandelion began to regale the table with another story, but Vivienne was only partially paying attention. Her mind was consumed by Geralt’s past romance with a woman with raven locks and violet eyes. That morning, he’d told her about being in a rocky relationship that had lasted for years.  He hadn’t mentioned the woman’s name at the time, but he had to have been referring to his relationship with the mysterious Yennefer. A woman who inspired tragic love songs.</p><p> </p><p>And, with those thoughts, the wonderful mood that Vivienne had been feeling all evening disappeared - replaced with insecurity and, if she was honest, a bit of jealousy.  She knew it wasn’t rational. There was no need to have those feelings because, as far as she knew, Geralt had no desire to be with Yennefer. Or did he? That morning, he’d never mentioned to her just how their relationship had ended.  Perhaps, she’d been the one to end it, and he still longed for her despite the fact that their romance was, by his own admission, a rocky one. Maybe that’s why he’d stopped dancing with her earlier – because he felt it a betrayal to Yennefer to be dancing with another woman during ‘their’ song.</p><p> </p><p>A few minutes later, Geralt finally showed back up, and after he sat down next to her, she asked, “Everything alright?”</p><p> </p><p>“You bet. Bladder was full. That’s all.” </p><p> </p><p>But he didn’t mention the song or Yennefer, and she wondered why.</p><p> </p><p>For the next hour, she wore a fake smile and laughed politely in the appropriate places when people told the tales, but she couldn’t stop thinking about Geralt’s romance with the sorceress.  She hated the way she was feeling. She knew it wasn’t healthy. So, she wanted to discuss things with him to find out the truth, but she realized that doing so in the middle of Dandelion and Priscilla’s party wasn’t the right time or place.  But she was determined to discuss it with him afterwards.</p><p> </p><p>Suddenly, Dandelion stood up from where he was sitting and exclaimed, “It’s Ciri! She actually made it.”</p><p> </p><p>At that, the entire table stood and looked over the balcony railing down towards the front door of the cabaret.  Vivienne saw a tall, lean, ashen-haired young woman partially surrounded by a half-dozen armed men.  A moment later, another woman walked through the front door.  A stunningly gorgeous woman with raven hair, dressed in all black.</p><p> </p><p>“What the hell?” she heard Geralt growl out.</p><p> </p><p>She looked up to see the witcher glaring at Dandelion.</p><p> </p><p>“What the hell is Yen doing here?” he asked the bard.</p><p> </p><p>“Search me. I didn’t invite her. I guess she came as Ciri’s guest.”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt peered back down below, and Vivienne noticed he was staring at the beautiful sorceress.</p><p> </p><p>“Terrific,” he whispered under his breath. “Just…bloody terrific.”</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter 11</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>                It was hours past midnight before Geralt finally trudged back to his room at the Chameleon, and he couldn’t remember the last time that he’d felt so lousy.</p><p> </p><p>              <em>‘You really are your own worst enemy,’</em> he thought to himself. <em>‘At least when it comes to women, you are.’</em></p><p> </p><p>Earlier in the evening, things had been going so well. Dandelion and Priscilla’s party had been wonderful – with good food and drink, great friends, and, perhaps most importantly, Vivienne by his side. It had been years since he’d felt so content.  In fact, the truth was that he’d maybe never felt so at peace. He could no longer deny that he felt tremendous affection for the golden-haired woman from Toussaint. And then Yennefer had arrived at the cabaret, and everything had turned to shit. He hadn’t meant for it to happen, and he’d even tried to stop it, but once Ciri and Yen showed up, they – well, Ciri - had monopolized all his time and focus.   </p><p> </p><p>              Geralt hadn’t seen his ward in years. After the events with the Wild Hunt, Ciri had decided to follow Emhyr back to Nilfgaard. The plan was for the emperor – her biological father - to groom her to become the empire’s next ruler.  If the witcher was honest, then he had to admit that her decision had hurt him greatly at the time. Even though he’d understood why she’d made that choice, it had still felt like a betrayal. As if she was picking Emhyr over him despite the fact that he – and not the emperor – had been the one to love her and raise her from the time that she was a little girl. What had stung the most was when she’d referred to Emhyr as her ‘father.’  He’d put on a stoic face that day in White Orchard when they’d said goodbye, but the pain had been deep.  Those feelings of betrayal had lessened in the intervening years, but, even so, he’d never once traveled south to visit her since then. For he knew that he’d never be welcomed – or feel comfortable - at Emhyr’s court. Thus, their only communication had been a few letters back and forth. But when Ciri, with tears in her eyes, had walked up to him at the party and hugged him tightly, it was as if none of that had ever happened. Or, rather, maybe it was just that, in that moment, he’d simply forgiven her, letting those lingering feelings of betrayal finally disappear.  </p><p> </p><p>              But while Geralt had been genuinely happy to see Ciri, the same couldn’t have been said with regards to Yennefer. Being in the presence of his former love had made him feel nothing but awkward and uncomfortable. Even in the best of times, the raven-haired sorceress could be difficult. So, how she might possibly act once she’d discovered his romantic interest in Vivienne had filled his stomach with dread.</p><p> </p><p>              After a curt greeting from her, he’d said, “I’m surprised you’re here, Yen. I wasn’t aware that you and Dandelion were so close that you’d want to attend his wedding.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Yes, well, what you’re <em>not </em>aware of, Geralt, would fill a cathedral. And I’m not friends with the pompous twit, but Ciri actually means something to me. So, when she asked that I accompany her, I put aside my own feelings to be there for her.”</p><p> </p><p>              The witcher had known her remark had been a rebuke.  For unlike him, Yennefer had relocated south to Nilfgaard in order to be with Ciri. </p><p> </p><p>              Once they all got back to the table on the second floor, Geralt had introduced Ciri and Yennefer to Vivienne. Though, he had only introduced her as his ‘friend.’  And at that point, for the next couple of hours, almost all of his time and energy had been taken up by Ciri, catching each other up on their lives.  To make matters worse, when they’d sat down at the table, Ciri had taken his seat on the bench, leaving him sandwiched in between her and Yennefer with Vivienne sitting on the other side of Ciri.  He’d done his best to involve Vivienne in their conversation, but he realized now that he’d done a piss-poor job of it. So poor, in fact, that he’d noticed that Vivienne had simply joined in the conversations with others at the table. And, then, before he knew it, she was biding a ‘goodnight’ to everyone at the party. </p><p> </p><p>              “Have a good evening, Geralt,” she’d said, giving him a small, sad smile. “Talk to you tomorrow?”</p><p> </p><p>              He’d stood and said, “Yes, of course. After the morning rehearsal. Just like we planned.”</p><p> </p><p>              He’d actually wanted to spend the entire night with her.  His plan had been to ask her back to his room after all the festivities were over, but with the arrival of Ciri and Yennefer, that plan had gone to hell. And with his former lover sitting right there, he’d felt way too awkward to give her kiss goodnight, even one on the cheek.</p><p> </p><p>              Eventually, Dandelion and Priscilla’s party ended, but the night was far from finished. Geralt had arranged for a bachelor party in one of the private suites at the Passiflora where he, Dandelion, and all the males spent several more hours smoking pipes, playing cards, being served drinks by scantily clad women, and telling all of the tales that hadn’t been appropriate earlier at the cabaret while in mixed company. But, even then, with Yennefer no longer around, he hadn’t been able to truly enjoy himself because, the entire time, he’d been thinking of Vivienne and the hurt look on her face when she’d said goodnight earlier. He berated himself because he knew that he’d messed things up. He should have told Ciri to move so that he could have sat next to Vivienne. And he should have done a better job of bringing her into their conversation.</p><p> </p><p>              Now, as he climbed the stairs to his room at the Chameleon, he desperately wanted to knock on Vivienne’s door and ask her to forgive him, but, given that it was the middle of the night, he knew that it was too late to do so.  He’d just speak with her tomorrow after the morning wedding rehearsal at the Lebiodan temple. Hopefully, she’d be understanding and would still want to spend the day with him.</p><p> </p><p>oOo</p><p> </p><p>              All was right in the world. It was a crisp autumn morning as Vivienne and the white wolf frolicked in the meadow, the sun bathing everything in a golden glow.  The two of them took turns chasing each other through the lush grass and colorful flowers while a nearby golden oriole filled the air with its beautiful melodies. Vivienne couldn’t help but laugh out loud as she ran around the glade, the wolf barking and playfully nipping at her heels.</p><p> </p><p>              Eventually, out of breath, she said, “Enough! Enough! I’ve got to cool down.”</p><p> </p><p>              She bent down on one knee, and the wolf approached and nuzzled her cheek with his snout, which made her smile.</p><p> </p><p>              “Let’s get a drink,” she said, and then they walked over to the small, clear pond where she knelt down and cupped the cool water in her hands to drink.</p><p> </p><p>Once she was done, she gazed at the wolf next to her. He had his head down, lapping up the refreshing liquid.  Even now, she was still awed by his size, and deep down, she was still aware that, if he wanted, he could easily hurt her.  But she knew that he wouldn’t. She trusted him completely. She reached over and gently ran her hands over his foreleg. He didn’t flinch or whine at all. She nodded her head in satisfaction at that. Due to her care, his injured leg had completely healed. A moment later, he lifted his head and peered into her eyes for a second before stepping close and nuzzling her cheek again.</p><p> </p><p>“Thank you,” she said with a smile. “And you’re welcome. I’m glad that I could help you.”</p><p> </p><p>At that point, Vivienne changed position so that she was sitting cross-legged on the ground. Immediately, the wolf laid down next to her and rested his huge head in her lap. She scratched him behind the ears and rubbed her fingers through his hair, and almost instantly, the large beast closed his eyes, his entire body relaxing at her touch.</p><p> </p><p>Vivienne lost track of time as the two of them stayed right there, just enjoying each other’s company.  When she rested her hand on the wolf’s side, she could feel his heart beating powerfully in his chest. That sensation – along with his slow breathing – was very soothing so she closed her eyes and breathed in deeply.  As she exhaled, a smile came to her face because she’d never felt so content.</p><p> </p><p>But, suddenly, a crack of thunder shook the meadow, startling both her and the wolf. She immediately opened her eyes to see dark clouds forming overhead and obscuring the sun, and a moment later, she heard the shrill, harsh croak of a nearby bird. She knew at once that it was not the sound of the golden oriole.</p><p> </p><p>“Caw caw caw!” came the unpleasant cry again.</p><p> </p><p>She immediately looked in the direction of the noise and saw a large, black raven giving chase to the yellow bird.  The oriole was flapping its wings quickly, doing its best to avoid the black bird’s attack.  Vivienne noticed that flying right next to the raven was a smaller, chirping bird – what appeared to be a blue and white swallow. A second later, the oriole flew away towards the west, at which point, the raven returned to the meadow, alighting on the branch of a nearby tree.</p><p> </p><p>“Caw caw!” croaked the black bird.</p><p> </p><p>The wolf barked back at it, but to Vivienne’s ear, it didn’t sound like a bark of anger.</p><p> </p><p>Instantly, the raven flapped its wings and flew straight at Vivienne. Her eyes widened in fear, and she raised her hands to protect her face, but the bird never attacked. It simply flew in circles above her and the wolf, letting loose with its harsh croaks the entire time.  The wolf barked and leapt in the air trying to catch the bird but to no avail. A moment later, the raven flew away out of the meadow, and the wolf immediately gave chase.</p><p> </p><p>“No! Don’t leave!” Vivienne cried out. “Come back!”</p><p> </p><p>The wolf stopped in his tracks and looked back at her, but only for a second. The raven cawed loudly again, bringing his focus back onto it, and then they were both gone, disappearing into the dense, dark forest.</p><p> </p><p>              “Don’t go!” Vivienne shouted out, and her cry of anguish woke her from the nightmare.</p><p> </p><p>              She sat up in bed, her heart pounding and filled with a sense of despair.</p><p> </p><p>              “It was just a dream,” she whispered to herself as she brought her hand to her chest. “Just a dream.”</p><p> </p><p>              But, then, the memory of the night before came flooding into her mind. She remembered how strangely Geralt had acted upon hearing the love song about his and Yennefer’s relationship. And she remembered how things had changed between them as soon as the beautiful raven-haired sorceress and Ciri had arrived at the party. He’d suddenly had no more time for her. And she realized, then, that maybe it wasn’t just a dream after all.</p><p> </p><p>oOo</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt arrived at the Temple of Lebioda to find the wedding party talking in excited whispers. He scanned the front foyer of the temple but didn’t see Dandelion anywhere. A moment later, he let out a little sigh and thought, <em>‘What now?’</em> as a frantic Priscilla quickly approached him.</p><p> </p><p>              “What did he do now?” he asked before she could even get out a word.</p><p> </p><p>              “Nothing. This time.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Then, where is he? Obviously, something’s wrong.”</p><p> </p><p>              “You won’t believe it, but last night, Dessau Hall – where we were going to hold tonight’s reception – burnt to the ground.”</p><p> </p><p>              “You’re kidding.”</p><p> </p><p>              “No. Mr. Dessau came by the cabaret this morning and gave us the news. The entire building and everything in it is completely destroyed.”</p><p> </p><p>              “So, where’s Dandelion?”</p><p> </p><p>              “He went out in search of another banquet hall. He said he’d come here as soon as he’d made arrangements. But there’s no way he’ll be able to find one. Not on such short notice.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Why not just have it at the Chameleon?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Never in a <em>million</em> years would my father by okay with that,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m surprised he even set foot in it the other day.”</p><p>             </p><p>              Suddenly, tears came to her eyes.</p><p> </p><p>              “I can’t believe it, Geralt. After everything we’ve been through…now this. It’s almost as if the gods don’t want us to get married.”</p><p> </p><p>              He gave a her a quick side-hug.</p><p> </p><p>              “We’ll figure something out, okay?” </p><p>             </p><p>              She didn’t say anything. She simply nodded her head and wiped the tears from her cheeks.  It was then that her mother called her name, causing her to sigh and break their hug.</p><p> </p><p>              “I better go see what they want. But I’m sure it’s just to complain some more. After everything that happened yesterday – finding out Dandelion got me pregnant out of wedlock, and with what went down at the Golden Sturgeon - they’re even less thrilled about me marrying him.”</p><p> </p><p>              He watched Priscilla walk over to where her family was standing in a tight circle, speaking in hushed tones. And then his eyes moved over to another group, and he immediately recognized them as some of Dandelion’s kin. He figured they must have just gotten into the city, either late last night or early this morning.  He didn’t know them well, but he’d met them a few times over the course of his friendship with the bard, and he was just about to go over and say hello when he saw Priscilla’s sister approaching him – which caused him to sigh inwardly.  He remembered how flirtatious she’d been a couple of days past at the cabaret when she’d found out that he was both a knight and a landowner. He hadn’t been receptive to her advances then, and that had been before he’d developed feelings for Vivienne. So, he certainly didn’t want to have to deal with her now.</p><p> </p><p>              Surprisingly, though, as she walked his way, she wasn’t wearing a flirtatious smile but, rather, a hostile-looking scowl.</p><p> </p><p>              “Good morning, Lois,” he said. “How are you?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Is that all you’ve got to say for yourself?”</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt cocked an eyebrow at her response. There was no mistaking it now. She definitely wasn’t please with him for some reason, which was fine with the witcher. At least that meant she wouldn’t be coming on to him.</p><p> </p><p>              “It’s a beautiful day for a wedding. How’s that?”</p><p> </p><p>              “I heard about what happened yesterday,” she hissed.</p><p> </p><p>              “You’ll have to be more specific, Lois. Because <em>a lot</em> happened yesterday. So, I’m not exactly sure what you mean.”</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt didn’t think it possible, but the scowl on her face deepened, making her face look even more pinched.</p><p> </p><p>              “Quentin told us what happened. You <em>threatened</em> him. A man of integrity who simply went to defend Priscilla’s honor against that despicable friend of yours.”</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt looked over Lois’ head to see Priscilla in a heated discussion with her father. His face was red, and he was angrily pointing in several directions.</p><p> </p><p>              <em>‘Dandelion, you must really love this woman,’ </em>he thought to himself with a small shake of his head. <em>‘If you’re actually willing to marry into this family.’</em></p><p>
  
</p><p>“Have you got <em>nothing</em> to say for yourself, you…you scoundrel?” Lois asked, interrupting his thoughts.</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt was already feeling bad enough about himself for how he’d let events transpire with Vivienne the night before. The last thing he needed was this shrew berating him. He took in a deep breath and exhaled very slowly as he stared into the woman’s face.</p><p> </p><p>              “Listen up, Lois,” he said calmly but with no warmth. “Dandelion may have to tolerate you and your family because you’re about to be his in-laws. But I don’t. So, yeah, I threatened Quentin yesterday. And why? Because he was about to draw his sword on an unarmed man.  Your oh-so-honorable brother didn’t display a lot of honor with that act - did he?  But let me guess – he failed to mention that little detail to you, huh?”</p><p> </p><p>              At that, she didn’t say a word. She just glared at him.        </p><p> </p><p>              “Yeah, just as I thought. But while Quentin may have no honor, he at least did show some wisdom by sheathing his sword. Otherwise, I would’ve taken off his head and not lost a wink of sleep over it.”</p><p> </p><p>              “You, <em>sir</em>, are no gentleman.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Yeah, I’ve heard that before.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Mark my words – dishonorable men reap their due. So, sayeth the prophet Lebioda.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Yeah, I’ve heard that before, too. But you really need to preach that to Quentin, not me.”</p><p> </p><p>              Lois just scowled some more.</p><p> </p><p>              “To think that I was initially attracted to you.”</p><p> </p><p>              “There’s no accounting for taste, is there?”</p><p> </p><p>              “You know what - I have no interest in conversing further with someone like you.”</p><p> </p><p>              A half smile, half snarl came to Geralt’s face.</p><p> </p><p>              “Looks like my luck’s changing for the better every day.”</p><p> </p><p>              With that, Lois huffed, turned on her heel, and marched back to where her family was standing. A moment later, Dandelion came rushing through the front doors of the temple, and immediately, everyone gathered around him.</p><p> </p><p>              “Hold on! Hold on!” he shouted above the noise, raising his hands in the air for silence. “I’ve got to talk to Geralt in private. Then I’ll let you know what’s going on.”</p><p> </p><p>              The two of them walked out into the morning sunlight and stood on the temple’s front steps.</p><p> </p><p>              “Geralt, I hate to ask this of you, but…I need your help again.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Of course, you do.”</p><p> </p><p>              “I went all over town this morning trying to find another banquet hall where we could hold our reception tonight. There’s nothing, Geralt. Nothing!  Everyone I talked to said that they’re already booked with some other event.”</p><p> </p><p>              “So, what do you expect me to do about it?”</p><p> </p><p>              “I was desperate so…I went to the only person in the city that I knew could help me.”</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt didn’t like the sound of that at all. Dandelion being desperate never ended well.</p><p> </p><p>              “What did you do, Dandelion?”</p><p> </p><p>              “I went to see Dijkstra.”</p><p> </p><p>              The witcher clenched his jaws at that news because he already knew what was coming.  He did notice that the bard at least had the good graces to break eye contact and look away in shame.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m sorry, Geralt, but I had no choice! This is an emergency,” Dandelion continued, bringing his eyes back to meet Geralt’s. “The Chancellor’s palace has multiple banquet halls and ballrooms that could suit our needs, and Dijkstra said that he’d happily allow us to use the main ballroom…on one condition. He is requesting a favor from you. He said that you know what it is.”</p><p> </p><p>The witcher just exhaled deeply and shook his head. He didn’t really want to do the ‘favor’ for Dijkstra, but, honestly, compared to all the other sacrifices he’d already made in the last few days on his friend’s behalf, what the chancellor wanted was actually going to be fairly easy.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, I know what he wants.”</p><p> </p><p>“What is it?”</p><p> </p><p>“None of your business.”</p><p> </p><p>“But you’ll do it?”</p><p> </p><p> “Yeah, I’ll do it.”</p><p> </p><p>“That’s great, Geralt! I owe you one.”</p><p> </p><p>“More than one. Tell him I’ll take care of it tomorrow.”</p><p> </p><p>Suddenly, a grimace came to the bard’s face.</p><p> </p><p>“He, uh, he said that he’d expect you today. Right now, in fact.”</p><p> </p><p>“Dandelion,” Geralt growled, “I’ve already got plans for today. Important plans.”</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t know what to tell you. He was adamant. Please, Geralt! You’ve got to do this for me! I promise I won’t ask another favor from you ever again!”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt wanted to tell the both of them – Dandelion and Dijkstra – to go jump in the harbor, but he looked at the pathetic, pleading look on his friend’s face and relented.  But he wasn’t happy about it at all. He scowled, stepped close to the bard, and thrust his hand inside the man’s doublet.</p><p> </p><p>“Fine,” he said, before pulling out the poet’s journal. “But you’re going to take a note to Vivienne, understood?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, yeah. Of course, whatever you say!”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt pulled the pencil from its holder on the spine of the journal and turned to a blank page near the back. He paused for a moment, collecting his thoughts, and then started writing out a message.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>‘Vivienne,</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>              <em>I need to apologize to you – for a lot of things. I’m sorry how things turned out last night. I know that you probably felt ignored, and I’m sorry. I have no excuse for it. No matter how excited I was to see Ciri again, I shouldn’t have ignored you. I honestly didn’t mean to do so.</em></p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>Also, I promise you I have no feelings for Yennefer. I just couldn’t dance with you to that song because it felt like an insult to you. I should’ve told you that at the time. I don’t know why I didn’t. I’m just not great when it comes to talking about my feelings. But you’re probably already very aware of that.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>I was going to discuss all of this with you today, in person, after the rehearsal this morning, but another emergency has come up. One that apparently only I can deal with. I know that we were planning on spending the day together, and I hate that we now can’t. So, I’m sorry about this, too. </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>Please know that I care about you a lot, and I really want to see you again. I’ll come by your room as soon as I’m done doing this final favor for Dandelion, but if I can’t, then please come to the wedding and reception tonight. Please let me apologize in person and make it up to you.’</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>He stopped and re-read the message. It had been awkward for him to write, and it was just as awkward for him to read, as well. Discussing his feelings had never been easy for him. But he desperately wanted to make things right with Vivienne, even if that meant doing something that made him feel uncomfortable.  He came to the end of the message, but he wasn’t sure how to end it.  Finally, he swallowed and gave a small nod of his head, hoping that what he was about to write was still true.  And then he scribbled out the final words.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>‘Your knight,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Geralt’</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>              He tore the page from the journal and folded it up twice.</p><p> </p><p>              “Make sure Vivienne gets this. As soon as possible, got it?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Of course. You’ve got my word. I won’t let you down.”</p><p> </p><p>              “You’d best hope not. Apparently, Lebioda’s not a fan of dishonorable men. Just ask Lois.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Huh?” said the bard with furrowed brows. “Since when do you care about what Lebioda says? Or Lois, for that matter?”</p><p> </p><p>“Never mind,” said the witcher before heading down the temple steps and towards the Redanian chancellor’s palace.</p><p> </p><p>oOo</p><p> </p><p>              Vivienne was dressed and sitting in her room at the cabaret. She’d already eaten breakfast and was simply waiting for Geralt to return from the wedding rehearsal at the temple. He’d told her last night that the rehearsal wasn’t to last more than an hour, but it was already nearing lunch. She was biting her lip and wringing her hands together because she was full of both conflicting thoughts and emotions.</p><p> </p><p>              On one hand, she was looking forward to spending the day with him – especially, given that he would be leaving for Toussaint on the morrow.  However, she was also feeling a bit irritated that he was keeping her waiting for so long. He should have been back a couple of hours ago.  If the plans had changed, then the courteous thing would have been for him to let her know. It also didn’t help her emotional state that waiting for Geralt took her back to her teenage years when she’d constantly waited for her ‘prince charming’ to come break her curse. She’d hated the feelings of hopelessness and powerlessness then, and being reminded of that time was putting her in a dark mood now. And if all of that wasn’t enough, there was still the issue of his relationship with Yennefer that she wanted to discuss. Or, at least, a part of her did.  Wanted to get it out in the open and resolve it.  However, there was another part of her that feared what that conversation might bring.</p><p> </p><p>              <em>‘We’ve only got one day left together,’</em> she thought<em>. ‘Perhaps, it’d just be better to forget about it. To just enjoy the time that we have left together.’</em></p><p>
  
</p><p>              A sound at her door brought her out of her internal debate, and she quickly stood up from where she was sitting, thinking that it was Geralt. But, then, she heard a key enter the lock, and a second later, Marissa walked into the room. From the look on her cousin’s face, Vivienne immediately knew that something was amiss.</p><p> </p><p>              “Hey,” she said. “What is it? What’s wrong?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Hi,” said the brunette. “I was hoping you’d be here.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Is everything alright?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Yes, everything’s fine,” Marissa answered before pausing for a second. “But we need to talk.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Okay. It sounds serious.”</p><p> </p><p>              “I…I think it is,” she said before a large smile came to her face. “Last night, Rodrick – Count Dufrene – told me that he’s in love with me.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Wow! That is serious. And how do you feel about him?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Well, I’m not in love with him, but I do like him…a lot. I could see it becoming love one day, maybe.”</p><p> </p><p>              Vivienne rushed to her cousin and hugged her tightly.  After a moment, they broke their embrace but continued to hold each other’s hands.</p><p> </p><p>              “Really?”</p><p> </p><p>              The buxom brunette didn’t say anything. She just nodded as another beaming smile came to her face.</p><p> </p><p>“That’s wonderful, Marissa! So, why did you look so upset when you walked in?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Because he wants me to stay with him. And not just for tonight. But permanently.”</p><p> </p><p>              “And you want to?”</p><p> </p><p>              “I do. It’s shocking, I know. But I really do. I realize I’m not getting any younger. I’m already twenty now, and I can’t travel the world forever. I have to settle down eventually. And he’s a great catch. Young, handsome, rich, great in bed. What else could I ask for?”</p><p> </p><p>              “So, then, what’s the problem?”</p><p> </p><p>              At that point, Marissa led Vivienne to the nearby bed, where they sat on the edge of it facing one another.</p><p> </p><p>              “Well, if I stay with him, then I feel like I’d be abandoning you. I couldn’t do -”</p><p> </p><p>              “No, no,” interrupted Vivienne.  “You have to stay with him. Don’t worry about me.”</p><p>             </p><p>              “But I do.</p><p> </p><p>              “Marissa, I was traveling the world for a year and a half before you joined me, and I was just fine by myself.  I’m a grown woman. I’ll be fine now, too. Honestly.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Are you sure?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Positive. If you think there’s a chance with Count Dufrene, then you have to pursue it.  No regrets, right?  Isn’t that what you told me?”</p><p> </p><p>              Marissa nodded but still didn’t look happy. So, Vivienne smiled for her, hoping to convince her.</p><p> </p><p>              “Then, let’s get you packed, alright?”</p><p> </p><p>              The two women peered into each other’s eyes for a moment.  Vivienne truly was happy for her cousin, and her face reflected it.  Eventually, a smile came to Marissa’s face, as well, and she gave Vivienne a tight hug.</p><p> </p><p>              “Okay. As long as you’re sure.”</p><p> </p><p>              “I am.”</p><p> </p><p>              It was then that there was a knock at their door.  Immediately, Vivienne’s breath caught in her throat and she bit down on her lip.</p><p> </p><p>              She broke her embrace with Marissa and quickly stood, smoothing out the wrinkles in her dress.</p><p> </p><p>              “How do I look?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Perfect – as usual,” answered Marissa with a smile.</p><p> </p><p>              Vivienne strode to the door, but when she opened it, her face fell for it wasn’t Geralt who’d knocked. Standing there was a woman she’d never seen before.</p><p> </p><p>              “Are you Vivienne de Tabris?” the stranger asked.</p><p> </p><p>              “I am.”</p><p> </p><p>              “This is for you,” said the woman, handing her a folded-up piece of paper. “Geralt asked me to deliver this.”</p><p>             </p><p>              Vivienne looked up from the note in her hand to see the woman smiling, but there wasn’t any warmth in it.</p><p> </p><p>              “Have a nice day,” said the stranger coldly before immediately turning and heading down the hallway.</p><p> </p><p>oOo</p><p> </p><p>              “You burnt down the banquet hall, didn’t you?”</p><p> </p><p>              Dijkstra laughed.</p><p> </p><p>              “I’m the chancellor of Redania, and you dare accuse me of arson?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Oh, I dare,” said the witcher.</p><p> </p><p>              “Just what kind of person do you think I am?”</p><p> </p><p>              “We both know the answer to that.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Indeed, we do,” he said with a chuckle. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I was in the palace all last night. So, I couldn’t have burned down any hall – banquet or otherwise.”</p><p> </p><p>              “I didn’t mean you personally. I meant some of your lackeys.”</p><p> </p><p>              The smile stayed on the big man’s face.</p><p> </p><p>              “Mind you, I’m not admitting to anything, but sometimes sacrifices must be made for the greater good. A burned down banquet hall is a small price to pay if it helps ensure a trade deal between Redania and Ofier.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Small price to you maybe. I doubt the owner of the burned down banquet hall would say the same.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Well, fortunately, his ruler has a heart of gold. I’m sure we’ll find the funds to help him rebuild.”</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt gave a small shake of his head.</p><p> </p><p>              “And let me guess – one word from the chancellor with the heart of gold, and suddenly, all the other banquet halls in the city were booked tonight, no matter what.”</p><p> </p><p>              Dijkstra laughed.</p><p> </p><p>              “You do know me well.”</p><p> </p><p>              “And if I hadn’t been willing to come here?”</p><p> </p><p>              The big man smirked and shook his head.</p><p> </p><p>              “You - refuse to help your poet friend out of his dire circumstances?  There was never any doubt you’d come to his aid. You think you know me well? Well, no more than I know you. Now, do you have any more questions for me, or are you finally ready to perform this little <em>favor</em>?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Let’s get this over with.”</p><p> </p><p>              Ten minutes later, Geralt was led into a study within the palace, in the middle of which stood Lady Nadari, the wife of the Ofieri ambassador.  She was wearing a painter’s smock and standing in front of an easel, which held a large blank canvas. When she saw the witcher, she broke into a beautiful smile. He approached the woman and gave a small bow of his head.</p><p> </p><p>              “Greatly I am pleased that your mind to be changed,” she said in her broken Common tongue. “As the other night I mention, painting unique and rare creatures, my hobby it is. The masterpiece of my collection – a witcher with sword - you shall be.”</p><p> </p><p>              “What an honor,” he said dryly before unbuttoning his jacket.</p><p>             </p><p>oOo</p><p> </p><p>              Vivienne could barely breathe as a single tear ran down her cheek and fell onto the note in her hands. She read Geralt’s message again, and his words hurt perhaps even more the second time through. </p><p> </p><p>              “What is it?” asked Marissa. “What’s wrong?”</p><p> </p><p>              “I…I can’t believe it. There…there has to be some mistake.”</p><p> </p><p>She looked down at the note for a third time. There were only a couple of sentences, but those were enough to make her feel as if she’d just been punched in the gut. Geralt had cancelled their plans for the day. He’d also uninvited her to the wedding and reception that night.  And, finally, he’d written that the two of them had no future because he realized that he still had feelings for Yennefer.</p><p> </p><p>Vivienne sat down on the edge of the bed, slowly shaking her head, her eyes no longer focused on anything.</p><p> </p><p>“I thought he was the one,” she whispered to herself. “We were getting along so well. I…I thought he was the one.”</p><p> </p><p>She swallowed hard as memories from the previous evening flashed through her mind – Geralt’s reaction when his and Yennefer’s song was played and, later, how once the sorceress and Ciri had arrived, he’d basically ignored her.  Those memories transitioned into images from her nightmare - the one of her, the wolf, and the raven in the meadow. She shook her head again and slowly crumpled up the note in her hands.</p><p> </p><p>oOo</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt rushed up the stairs at the cabaret and down the hall towards Vivienne’s room. Just as he’d feared, posing for Lady Nadari’s painting had taken all day. There was only about an hour before the wedding started, and though he still needed to change into his wedding attire, he desperately wanted to see Vivienne first.  He hoped that, perhaps, the two of them could walk to the temple together. He knocked forcefully on her door several times, but a minute later, she’d still not answered. He cursed under his breath before heading back to his own room, thinking that she’d probably already left for the wedding. Or, at least, hoping she had.</p><p> </p><p>              When he opened the door to his room, Dandelion was inside waiting for him, pacing back and forth.  He was dressed to the nines, wearing an outfit in his favorite colors – a variety of purples and blues - with lacy cuffs, puffed sleeves, and a flowing cape. And, of course, he was accessorized to the hilt with silver rings on his fingers, a silky kerchief around his neck, and raspberry beret – sporting a large, peacock feather - sitting rakishly atop his head.  Geralt could tell that he’d even dyed the hair on his face and head a dark brown.</p><p> </p><p>              “Finally! Thank the gods!” exclaimed the bard upon seeing the witcher enter the room.</p><p> </p><p>              “The gods have got nothing to do with it.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Yeah, well, then thank somebody. I was getting worried. We’re cutting it close.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Relax. They can’t start without you.”</p><p> </p><p>              “True, but Priscilla could change her mind without me.”</p><p> </p><p>              “You kidding? After everything you’ve put her through, if she’s still willing to marry you, then you being a bit late wouldn’t make her call it off.  Hell, at this point, she probably expects it.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Exactly. So, I’d like to pleasantly surprise her.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Fine. Let me get dressed, then we can go.” He then scowled at the next thought. “Did you bring my outfit from Elihal’s?”</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt noticed a small smirk come to Dandelion’s face.</p><p> </p><p>              “I put it on the bed.”</p><p> </p><p>              The witcher scowled some more as he walked over to his bed. He honestly wasn’t sure which outfit he’d prefer to wear to the wedding – the green and yellow monstrosity that Dandelion had commissioned Elihal to design or the bright, blue thong he’d worn at the Passiflora. Either way, he knew he’d look like a fool. But a foot from the bed, he suddenly stopped, his brow furrowed at what he saw. He reached down and picked up the doublet, but it wasn’t the garishly yellow garment he’d seen a few days ago.  Instead, he held up an all-black doublet with very elegant – but subdued – silver stitching.  He glanced at the rest of the outfit on the bed to see that it was also made of the same understated, black material.</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt quickly turned to look at Dandelion.</p><p> </p><p>              “What gives? This isn’t the outfit you had Elihal make for me. I saw that one. It looked like - well, like something that you’d wear.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Exactly. It dawned on me that it was way too eye-catching. Today is supposed to be <em>my</em> day. So, I want all eyes on me, not you. Plus, I realized that you simply don’t have the charisma or bearing to wear an outfit like that.”</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt peered at Dandelion with his brow still furrowed for just a moment, but, a second later, he deduced his friend’s real motivation behind the outfit change.</p><p> </p><p>              “Thanks, Dandelion,” he said with a nod. “I appreciate it.”</p><p> </p><p>              At that point, the bard’s pompous smirk changed into a genuinely, warm smile.</p><p> </p><p>              “No, Geralt. Thank <em>you</em>. For everything. This is the best day of my life, and it wouldn’t be happening if not for you. You’re a great friend,” said Dandelion, extending his hand. “Better than I deserve.”</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt looked at his friend’s extended hand for a moment as a thought passed through his mind.  Yes, today was a day of change. With Dandelion becoming a husband and father, Geralt knew that their friendship would never be the same.  But he realized the most important aspect was that, even if their friendship changed, it would always remain. It would just be different. That’s all. With that thought, he gripped his friend’s hand, and the two men smiled at one another for a couple of seconds before the he reached up and gave the bard an affectionate slap on the shoulder.</p><p> </p><p>              “Come on. Let’s go get you married off.”</p><p> </p><p>oOo</p><p> </p><p>              “Are you sure about this?” asked Marissa.</p><p> </p><p>              “And what would you do?” asked Vivienne with a small smile. For she knew exactly what her impetuous cousin would do.</p><p> </p><p>              The two women were standing on a dock in the Novigrad harbor. Vivienne had her packed, steamer trunk by her side with a couple of other personal bags stacked on top of it.</p><p> </p><p>              “I’d go find him at that wedding reception,” the brunette said, her eyes blazing.</p><p> </p><p>              “I’ve got my pride, Marissa. I’m not going to beg him to change his mind.”</p><p> </p><p>“Who said anything about getting him to change his mind? I’d go there to tell him off! If he wants to pick some other woman over you, fine.  It makes him a fool, but fine. But to not even have the courage to tell you that to your face? To send some woman with a note instead? Talk about a spineless coward! It showed a total lack of respect for you!”</p><p> </p><p>              As much as Vivienne disagreed with her cousin’s proposed course of action, she definitely agreed with her last sentiment. And, to be honest, that was what hurt Vivienne the most – that she’d been so wrong about Geralt’s character.  Being rejected over another woman was painful, but she realized that, ultimately, one’s feelings can’t be changed.  And if Geralt had stronger feelings for Yennefer than he did for her, then so be it.  It hurt and was disappointing, but so be it. That said, while it was true that a person couldn’t control their feelings, they <em>could </em>control their actions. They could decide to act honorably. But he hadn’t.  As Marissa had just stated, how Geralt had chosen to end things with her had been cowardly and disrespectful.  And that wasn’t like him at all.  Or, at least, she hadn’t thought that was like him. Sure, they’d only known each other a handful of days, but after everything they’d been through, she thought that she truly had known the man. Known him down at his core. She’d believed him to be a man of incredible honor and integrity. Of kindness and compassion. And that was what was the most disappointing – that she’d been so wrong about him. She must have asked herself that same question a hundred times already.</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>              ‘How could I have been so wrong?’</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>Perhaps, she’d been too naïve, wanting too much to see the best in Geralt. Hoping that he could be her long-awaited ‘knight in shining armor.’ She could admit to herself that, when it came to romance, she wasn’t very experienced. Her curse had kept her from being that. So, maybe, she’d simply been a fool to think he truly was who he portrayed himself to be. Maybe nobody truly was. Perhaps everyone showed the world only the best versions of themselves.  She’d certainly kept the truth about herself hidden from the world for over a decade.  So, why should she think that anyone else would be different? But if so, then it was a hard-earned and painful lesson. And, frankly, it was a lesson that left her feeling a bit sad. Because if that was the truth, then could she ever trust anyone?  Was there anyone out in the world that she could fully give herself to?  She didn’t know the answer to that.</p><p> </p><p>              Vivienne gave a small sigh and then hugged her cousin.</p><p> </p><p>              “Thank you for your advice, and thank you for being so upset on my behalf. But I think I’d just prefer to leave. Telling him off wouldn’t change anything. And I doubt that it’d even make me feel any better.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Well, it’d make <em>me</em> feel better,” said the brunette before they broke their embrace.</p><p> </p><p>              Vivienne smiled.</p><p> </p><p>              “I’m going to miss your sass.”</p><p> </p><p>              Instantly, Marissa broke down in tears and hugged her cousin tightly. While Vivienne was comforting her, she heard a couple of men walk up close and grab her luggage.</p><p> </p><p>              “Lady Vivienne,” came the ship captain’s voice from behind her a few moments later. “It’s time to set sail.”</p><p> </p><p>              Upon hearing that, the two women parted and wiped the tears from their cheeks.</p><p> </p><p>              “I guess that’s my cue,” said Vivienne before turning and walking up the gangplank. Once on board, she looked back at Marissa with a small smile. “Don’t wait up for me!”</p><p> </p><p>              The younger woman smiled back and yelled out, “I never do!”</p><p> </p><p>oOo</p><p> </p><p>              “So, here’s to the bride and groom. May their marriage be filled with wisdom, kindness, and patience,” said Geralt, finishing his toast and raising his glass into the air. He then looked directly at Priscilla. “Because you’re definitely gonna need it.”</p><p> </p><p>              Everyone politely laughed at that remark and drank a toast to the couple, and then the witcher sat down at the main table at the head of the hall. Dijkstra had definitely satisfied his end of the bargain because the banquet hall was befitting some kind royal reception. All the tables were adorned with snow-white table clothes, fine porcelain dishes, and crystal goblets. The wedding party and the hundred plus guests all seemed to be greatly enjoying the food, drink, and atmosphere. All except Geralt, that is.</p><p> </p><p>              He, once again, let his eyes scan his surroundings, but just like at the Lebiodan temple, he didn’t see Vivienne anywhere.  He knew it was foolish to even look for her at that point because if she’d been present, then she would’ve have approached him by now.</p><p> </p><p>              Earlier, on their walk to the temple from the cabaret, Geralt had asked Dandelion if he’d delivered his note to Vivienne like he’d asked.</p><p> </p><p>              “Well, not me personally, but yes,” the bard had answered.</p><p> </p><p>              “What do you mean? Not you, personally?”</p><p> </p><p>              “After the rehearsal, Brother Rasmun wanted to speak with me and Priscilla. And since you were so adamant that I get the note to Vivienne as soon as possible, then I asked someone to deliver it for me.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Who did you ask?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Priscilla’s sister, Lois, volunteered to do it.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Lois?” he’d asked, with furrowed brow. “<em>She</em> offered?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Yeah. I saw her later and asked her about it. She promised that she had. Why?”</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt hadn’t answered the bard at the time, saying instead, “It’s nothing. Never mind.”</p><p> </p><p>              But he’d been bothered about what Dandelion had told him ever since then.  And given that Vivienne was nowhere to be seen, he was now even more unsettled.</p><p> </p><p>              <em>‘Why hadn’t she shown?’</em> he asked himself. <em>‘Was she really that upset about last night?’</em></p><p>
  
</p><p>He honestly couldn’t blame her if she was, but even so, he was still dumbfounded by her absence because he thought she was the type of person that would at least hear him out, to let him apologize.</p><p> </p><p>What he’d wanted to do for the past couple of hours is to speak with Lois about it, but, unfortunately, he’d had no real chance so far to do so – neither at the temple nor at the reception. So, for the next half hour, he squirmed in his chair, only half-listening to everyone else toast the newlyweds and constantly eye-balling Lois.  Every once in a while, he noticed her looking back at him and the tiniest of smiles would come to her lips. Finally, Dandelion and Priscilla had their first dance together, and as soon as the band finished playing, Geralt rose from his seat and made a bee-line for Lois.</p><p> </p><p>“We need to talk.”</p><p> </p><p>She looked up at him with the same small smirk and a twinkle in her eye. She slowly took a sip of wine from her glass before her smile widened.</p><p> </p><p>“But, of course. Care to dance?”</p><p> </p><p>That caught him off-guard, but if that’s what it took to find out what happened, then so be it.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, sure.”</p><p> </p><p>He held out his hand, and once she placed hers in his, he led her to the dance floor.</p><p> </p><p>“I need to ask you a question,” he said, getting straight to the point. “You did a favor for Dandelion this morning. You took a note to a woman named Vivienne de Tabris at the Chameleon. Did you actually hand her the note?”</p><p> </p><p>“I did.”</p><p> </p><p>“And you’re sure it was her?”</p><p> </p><p>“I knocked on her door, asked the woman who answered if she was Vivienne, and she said yes. Tall, blonde hair…quite pretty.”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt cursed to himself.  His one hope had been that somehow Vivienne hadn’t received his note.</p><p> </p><p>              “Did she say anything?” he asked, bringing his focus back to Lois. “Ask about me?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Well, I told her the note was from you, and she did <em>not </em>look pleased.  I thought she was about to rip up the note, right there and then.”</p><p> </p><p>              The small smirk returned to her face.</p><p> </p><p>              “Is there something wrong, Geralt?  Were you hoping this woman would be here tonight? Because if so, I don’t see her.”</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt noticed that her eyes hardened just a bit and that her smirk almost turned into a snarl.</p><p> </p><p>              “Perhaps, she doesn’t like dishonorable men.”</p><p> </p><p>              And with that, she left him standing alone in the middle of the dance floor.</p><p> </p><p>oOo</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt finished packing and took a final look around his room at the cabaret. He didn’t know when – or even if – he’d ever be back in Novigrad so he didn’t want to leave anything behind. It was then that his eyes fell on the empty, blue bottle of Bitter Steel vodka resting on the small table. Even after he and Dandelion had finished off the top-shelf liquor two nights prior at the Golden Sturgeon, he’d refused to throw it out. He walked over and picked the bottle up, and as he stared at it, his mind wandered, thinking about Vivienne and where she might be just now.</p><p> </p><p>              After speaking with Lois the night before, he’d snuck out of the reception and hurried back to the Chameleon.  He’d been shocked when, after banging on her door, a man had answered.  The stranger didn’t know who Vivienne was and had told Geralt that he and his family had rented room earlier that evening. To verify, the witcher headed downstairs and asked ViLula if he could see the registry. Sure enough, it showed that Vivienne had checked out that afternoon.</p><p> </p><p>              For a moment, Geralt had been so overcome with emotion that he’d considered scouring the city’s taverns and inns all night until he’d found her. But the moment had passed quickly. For he’d realized that her leaving the cabaret without saying goodbye made it crystal clear how she felt about him. And if he chased after her, it’d just be, well, pathetic, he’d told himself.</p><p> </p><p>              At that point, all Geralt had wanted to do was find a dark corner in a seedy tavern and drink in solitude. But he knew he couldn’t, not with his best friend’s wedding reception still in progress. So, instead, he’d trudged his way back to the palace, where he’d forced himself to smile and nod through countless, banal conversations. All the while, the inner voice that had been with him his whole life mocked him.</p><p> </p><p>              <em>‘What did you expect, fool? That someone like you could end up with a woman like her? That you – a witcher – would ever find happiness?’</em></p><p> </p><p>              He’d nodded at that because, deep down, he’d known that whatever he and Vivienne had together wouldn’t last. Because relationships never lasted. Ever. Not one. Not for him, anyway. So, it wasn’t as if this was a surprise. Hell, he’d even tried talking her out of anything romantic from the very beginning. What bothered him the most about this latest relationship was simply how it had ended.  He’d hoped that, maybe, with Vivienne things could have somehow ended on good terms. With them kissing goodbye on the docks of the Novigrad harbor. That way, the two of them could have at least been left with some pleasant memories of their time together instead of the bitter pill that he was having to swallow now.</p><p> </p><p>              <em>‘Wake up, dumbass,’</em> the voice had said. <em>‘All relationships end badly. Otherwise, they wouldn’t end.’</em></p><p>
  
</p><p>Geralt had nodded at that thought, too, and then had spent the rest of the evening drinking copious amounts of vodka in order to help that bitter pill go down a little less painfully.</p><p> </p><p>              When he’d woken up the next morning, he’d discovered that, while his head hurt a bit, his heart hurt less so. It seemed as if, overnight, it had started to callous over. As if the walls that normally protected it were already being rebuilt. And, at that point, his focus shifted to returning to his vineyard at Corvo Bianco.</p><p> </p><p>              <em>‘Where it should have been this entire time,’</em> said the voice.</p><p> </p><p>              “An oren for yer thoughts,” said Zoltan, bringing the witcher out of his musings.</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt didn’t answer at first. Eventually, though, he gave his head a small shake and looked over at his friend. Dandelion and Priscilla were standing next to the dwarf. They were all there to say goodbye.</p><p> </p><p>              “I was just thinking of the irony,” he said, holding up the empty bottle as a sad smile came to his face. “Bitter Steel. Pretty appropriate.”</p><p> </p><p>              He opened up a saddle bag and carefully placed the bottle inside. A moment later, there was knock on his door, and when Dandelion opened it, ViLula walked in.</p><p> </p><p>              “Hey, Geralt. This just arrived for you,” she said, handing him a sealed parchment.</p><p> </p><p>              As soon as he broke the seal and saw the handwriting, he cursed under his breath. For he’d recognize Barnabas-Basil’s scrawl anywhere. And if his majordomo was writing, it could only be bad news.</p><p> </p><p>              “What’s wrong?” asked Dandelion. “It looks like you just found out you have to move in with Yennefer.”</p><p> </p><p>              “What?” said Geralt, looking up from the letter. “No, nothing that bad. Just a little mishap back home. My steward says he took care of it and not to worry, but before I left, I made him promise that he’d contact me if anything out of the ordinary happened with the harvest – no matter what.”</p><p> </p><p>              “So, I guess this means that you’re definitely not staying then,” said Priscilla.</p><p> </p><p>              She and Dandelion had been trying to convince him to stay a while longer, promising him that, if he did, there’d be no unexpected drama like before.  That after everything he’d done for them, he deserved a few days of nothing but peace and relaxation.</p><p> </p><p>              “Yeah, I really do need to get back. It’s the busiest time of the year.”</p><p> </p><p>              “You know – hell really has frozen over,” said Dandelion with a smile. “I never thought I’d see the day when you’d truly put up your swords and leave the Path. But here you are – an actual vineyard owner.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Pshaw!” exclaimed Zoltan. “That’s no more barmy than you being a husband and father.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Watch what you say, dwarf,” said Priscilla. “You’re next.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Ooof. What is it with lasses, eh?  As soon as they get hitched, suddenly, they have to meddle. Trying to get everyone else the same.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Misery loves company, I guess,” said Geralt.</p><p> </p><p>              A few minutes later, the four of them were all outside by the front door of the cabaret. One of Dandelion’s employees had brought Roach around from the stable, and after Geralt attached his bags to the saddle, he turned to look at his three friends. He’d already told Ciri goodbye that morning, and he knew that this farewell wasn’t going to be any easier.</p><p> </p><p>              Priscilla stepped up first, kissed him on the cheek and hugged him tightly.</p><p> </p><p>              “We’ll never forget what you did for us,” she said softly. “You’re a wonderful friend. Promise me you’ll come back to visit more often.  Because you’re going to be ‘Uncle Geralt’ really soon.”</p><p> </p><p>              He was just about to answer when he heard a female voice from behind.</p><p> </p><p>              “Bastard! So, is this Yennefer?”</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt turned to see a short, brunette glaring at him. He recognized her, but couldn’t remember exactly who she was at first. And then it dawned on him, and his eyes widened.</p><p> </p><p>              “Hey, it’s you. You’re Vivienne’s friend, right?”</p><p> </p><p>              “How can you even look yourself in the mirror, you gutless, old fart?!?” she hissed, ignoring his question.</p><p> </p><p>              “What…what are talking about it?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Oh, don’t play dumb! Vivienne was crazy about you. She went on and on about what a man of honor and decency you were. But you didn’t even have the spine to end things with her face-to-face.”</p><p> </p><p>              “End things? I didn’t end things with her.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Oh, really! Then, what do you call this?” she said, shoving a crumpled-up note into his chest.</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt grabbed the note and spread it out in his hands.</p><p> </p><p>              “Ending things in a note! And without the courage to even bring it yourself. You send some women instead!”</p><p> </p><p>              But, at that point, he wasn’t paying attention to the angry young woman anymore. He was completely confused by what he was reading.</p><p> </p><p>After a few seconds, he looked up and said, “This isn’t…I didn’t write this. This isn’t my handwriting.”</p><p> </p><p>Suddenly, the brunette stopped her rant.</p><p> </p><p>“What?”</p><p> </p><p>“I did send Vivienne a note yesterday morning, but not this. I…I apologized in my note. Told her that I cared about her. Asked her to come to the wedding and reception last night so that I could apologize in person.”</p><p> </p><p>“Wait. So…you don’t have feelings for someone named Yennefer?”</p><p> </p><p>“No. Not at all. But she thought I did?”</p><p> </p><p>The brunette nodded.</p><p> </p><p>“Then, who wrote that?” she asked, pointing to the note in his hand.</p><p> </p><p>“It doesn’t matter. Not right now. All that matters is Vivienne. Where is she? We can’t end things like this.”</p><p> </p><p>The young woman looked sick to her stomach.</p><p> </p><p>“She…she left the city. Yesterday. Sailed to Skellige.”</p><p> </p><p>Instantly, whatever hope he’d felt vanished. Not only had he and Vivienne missed out on their ‘happily right now,’ but their bittersweet farewell had been stolen from them, as well.</p><p> </p><p>“Terrific,” he said under his breath. “Just bloody terrific.”</p><p> </p><p>He sighed and shook his head several times, as he stared down at the ground, lost in thought.  After a moment, he turned towards Roach, put his foot in the stirrup and lifted himself into the saddle.</p><p> </p><p>“What are you planning on doing?” asked Dandelion. “Where are you going?”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt looked down at the bard and, then, suddenly, remembered the other note in his pocket.  He pulled it out and stared at the two notes in his hands – one from Corvo Bianco and the other that Vivienne had thought had come from him. He then brought his eyes up to those of his best friend.</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t know,” he said, shaking his head. “I honestly don’t know.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Chapter 12</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The frigid wind blew over the rocky, Skellige peaks and whistled down the slopes as snow flurries filled the air. But the white wolf was not deterred.  For, though he couldn’t see the golden oriole, he could hear her sweet chirping coming from somewhere up ahead. It was hypnotic, like a siren’s song, compelling him to follow. So, he charged onward, his paws crunching along the snow-covered ground and his hot breath turning to frost with every exhalation. He’d faced down and defeated every monster that had been thrown at him – harpies, drowners, water hags, and the like.  So, there was no way he’d let something as simple as a storm stop him. He had to catch her. He just had to.</p><p> </p><p>The wolf crested a ridge and came to an immediate stop, his eyes widening. There in front of him was the golden oriole, her wings extended, gliding on the wind. He let out a short, joyful bark, for he’d finally caught up with her. He’d been looking for so long.  The oriole flew low, just over his head, and despite the gusting winds, he could hear her tweeting her dulcet tones at him, filling his heart with warmth. He barked up at her, wanting her to come down out of the sky, but she continued to stay out of reach. This went on for a while – him happily barking and leaping up at her – until she eventually turned and flew towards the Great Sea. The wolf – now flush with renewed determination - instantly resumed his chase.</p><p> </p><p>But the pursuit was short-lived for, suddenly, the mountain ridge ended in a sharp precipice. The wolf came to a halt and stood at the edge of the cliff, the howling winds whipping around him. He glanced outward to see the oriole gliding on the gusts, just a short distance away.  He peered straight down – a thousand feet - to see white-capped waves crashing against large, jagged rocks that jutted up from the choppy sea. He barked several times, begging the golden oriole to return, but she came no closer, and then his barks turned to a whimper when, a moment later, she began flying away from him.  He couldn’t let her leave. Not now. Not when she was so near.</p><p> </p><p>The wolf let loose with a mournful howl and, once again, glanced down at the rocks and waves far below.  He looked up, one last time, at the golden oriole in the distance. Wherever she went, he would go, too. So, he quickly turned, running about fifteen feet from the drop-off.  He spun on his large paws and then sprinted as fast as he could back towards the edge of the precipice, and with a powerful surge, he leapt as far into the wind as he could, hoping that he could reach her.</p><p> </p><p>And it was then that Geralt awoke in his empty bed at Corvo Bianco.</p><p> </p><p>He threw the covers off and quickly sat up. He placed his bare feet on the cool, wooden floorboards and wiped the beads of sweat from his brow as he tried to slow down his breathing.</p><p> </p><p>“Damn,” he whispered to himself. “Been awhile since I had one that real.”</p><p> </p><p>He sat there a few moments longer, letting his mind recall the details of the dream. It had clearly been about Vivienne. The golden oriole could represent no one else. But the fact that he’d had a dream about her kind of surprised him. While it was true that he thought about her every day, he honestly couldn’t remember the last time that he’d actually dreamt about her. It had to have been months ago, back when he’d last seen her in Novigrad, the week of Dandelion’s wedding.</p><p> </p><p>Geralt swallowed hard, exhaled slowly, and when he lifted his eyes from the floor, they landed on a bottle on the nearby bookshelf. Resting on one of the shelves was the empty bottle of Bitter Steel vodka, and hanging around its neck was the black mask Vivienne had bought him to wear at the Passiflora. He stood from his bed and, after approaching the shelf, he picked up the bottle, sighing deeply as he stared down at it. He’d kept the two items as mementos because, despite how things had ended between them, overall, he still cherished those days with the golden-haired woman. The pleasant memories he had of their short time together were easily worth the pain.</p><p> </p><p>And he had no regrets, either – for he could honestly say that he had tried to fix things between them. That day in Novigrad, when he’d found out that Vivienne had sailed to Skellige, at first, he was torn on what to do. On whether to pursue her or simply return to Corvo Bianco. But, then, B.B.’s words had come back to him – from when his steward had been trying to convince him to attend his best friend’s wedding.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>‘Perhaps, you’ll be able to find that one thing that will bring you peace and fulfillment.’</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Geralt truly didn’t know if Vivienne was that one ‘thing,’ but he’d known for sure that toiling on the vineyard wasn’t the answer.  And when he’d looked down at Dandelion and Priscilla standing beside each other, hand-in-hand, he’d quickly made up his mind.</p><p> </p><p>The bard had even paid for his passage on a ship, saying, “Go find her, Geralt. There’s nothing in this world better than love. Trust me.”</p><p> </p><p>So, he’d set off with hope in his heart and confident that he could track her down, for she’d only had a single day’s head-start on him. But, amazingly, no one in Skellige had seen her or even heard of her.  And he still didn’t understand how that could be.  There was no way that a tall, elegant, golden-haired, green-eyed Continental should have been able to disappear into that harsh culture. She should have stood out like a beautiful, red rose sprouting forth from the snow-covered ground. But after almost a month of scouring all the islands with no success, he’d finally given up and come back home. And, once there, he’d made one last attempt - the only other thing that he knew to do.  He wrote Vivienne a short letter - explaining what had happened that last day in Novigrad and telling her how he felt about her - and sent it to her parent’s estate in the southern tip of the duchy. Perhaps, they would then deliver it on to her, wherever she was. He doubted that she’d ever actually read the letter.  And even if she did, he knew the chances were low that she’d seek him out, but he at least felt good knowing that he’d tried everything he could to make things right between them. He didn’t think he could say that regarding any other relationship he’d ever been in – not even the one he’d had with Yennefer.</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt put the bottle back in its place, got dressed, and made his way towards the kitchen. After eating a quick meal, he headed outside with a small bowl in his hand, and, as usual, he stopped at the railing near the front door and took in his estate. The sky was just beginning to lighten in the east, and there was a blanket of tranquility covering the vineyard. He looked about and gave a small nod of his head, satisfied by everything he saw.</p><p> </p><p>              B.B. had been true to his word. Despite Geralt’s long absence back in the fall, the harvest of the grapevines had been a success even without his presence. Not only that, but the harvest of the olive orchards had also gone smoothly.  It appeared, for now, at least, that the witcher would be able to continue to call Corvo Bianco his home for a few more years. </p><p> </p><p>              “No more Path for me,” he whispered to himself.</p><p> </p><p>              He walked over to the porch, placed the bowl on the wooden boards, and rattled it around a few times – just enough to make some noise.  Shortly, a scarred-up grey cat came bounding around the corner of the house.  Upon seeing Geralt, it immediately arched its back and hissed. </p><p> </p><p>              “It’s okay, Jokko,” said Geralt in a soothing tone. “It’s me.  You know me.”</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt rattled the bowl a couple of more times until the cat eventually relaxed.  It slowly skulked forward a few steps, and when it realized that it wasn’t in any danger, it began to scarf down the food in the bowl.  At that point, Geralt reached out and gently scratched the old tomcat behind the ears, and a few moments later, it began to purr as it continued to eat.</p><p> </p><p>              “That’s right, Jokko,” he said with a small smile. “There’s no need to be scared. We’re pals, me and you.”</p><p> </p><p>              When Geralt had returned from Skellige, he was determined to become friends with the ornery cat.  And, at the time, he couldn’t have even explained his motivation behind it.  Though, he figured it out eventually. He knew that he had his work cut out for him because cats, for whatever reason, simply carried an instinctual aversion to witchers. Perhaps, it was because they could sense that witchers were unnatural – that they were mutants who could harness the chaotic Power found in the world. He wasn’t sure of the reason, but ultimately, it wasn’t important.  What was important was how to overcome that aversion. It took him months of bringing food to the cat multiple times a day, but eventually, Geralt broke down Jokko’s defenses.</p><p> </p><p>              He crouched there for a few minutes more, petting the cat, and enjoying his company.  He smiled at the fact that he’d finally taught Jokko that he didn’t have to be a slave to his fears.  That he could choose to overcome them.</p><p> </p><p>              “Hell, if you can learn that,” he said to the cat, “then maybe there’s hope for me yet.”</p><p> </p><p>              And, indeed, Geralt had learned that truth – or, at least, partially. He’d certainly learned it with regards to the estate.  He no longer lived each day fearful that he would lose the vineyard like he had before. Yes, on the days that he worked, he still toiled from sun-up to sundown. However, unlike before, he actually took a day off once a week to recharge his spirit. Sometimes, he and B.B. would head over to the Cockatrice Inn to grab a bowl of crayfish chowder and engage in philosophical discussions.  Other times, he’d ride into Beauclair to listen to a band play music at the Pheasantry or to try his luck in a Gwent tournament with his friend, Palmerin de Launfal. And, on occasion, he’d walk down to the Sansretour, throw his fishing line into the river, and then simply take a nap in the afternoon sun.</p><p> </p><p>              Geralt looked at the cat happily gulping down his food and said, “Life is pretty good, isn’t it, little buddy?”  Jokko’s only response was to purr, which made the witcher smile. “Well, I’d better start my day. I’ll see you tonight.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>              It was mid-afternoon, and Geralt was down the slope, working in the grape vines when he suddenly jerked his head up and looked around. He could have sworn he heard a bird singing.  That wasn’t, in and of itself, unusual for there were plenty of birds that liked to call his vineyard home. But this tweeting was coming from very close by. He turned his head, and there it was, sitting on the top railing of a nearby fence - a golden oriole. At first, he furrowed his brow, unsure if what he was seeing was real or not.</p><p> </p><p>              “This isn’t another dream, is it?” he asked himself.</p><p> </p><p>              The beautiful bird chirped at him, as if it was answering his question.</p><p> </p><p>              The witcher just shook his head as a smile came to his face. He clearly wasn’t dreaming, but the situation was definitely unusual because golden orioles didn’t typically frequent his estate.  In fact, the last time he’d seen one had been back in the fall – the day before he’d received the wedding invitation from Dandelion. And the day before he’d had that dream about Vivienne.  Recalling that made him furrow his brow again.</p><p> </p><p>              “Why are you here, little one?” he asked, and the bird tweeted sweetly.</p><p> </p><p>              He took a few steps forward, and just as he was about to approach the bird, it flew away. But it only traveled about twenty yards before landing atop the fence and chirping at him again. So, he slowly walked towards it, and, again, it flew off just as he came close. But, once again, it only flew a short distance before resting on a nearby tree branch and tweeting in his direction.</p><p> </p><p>              “Do you want me to follow you?”</p><p> </p><p>              The bird chirped happily, and, suddenly, he thought he knew where it wanted him to go.</p><p> </p><p>              “I must be crazy,” he said to himself. “But, what the hell - I’ve done crazier things.”</p><p> </p><p>              And with that thought, Geralt walked purposefully up toward the main house with the golden oriole flying above him the entire time.  He stopped at the stables, and the bird settled down on the eaves of the roof.</p><p> </p><p>              “Watch out for Jokko, little one,” he warned. “He likes birds.”</p><p> </p><p>              The golden oriole chirped and ruffled its feathers.</p><p> </p><p>              A few minutes later, Geralt led Roach out of the stables and over to the garden area, where he’d earlier seen his majordomo inspecting the flowers, herbs, and vegetables.    </p><p> </p><p>              “B.B.,” he called out, getting his steward’s attention. “I’m taking the afternoon off.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Is everything okay, sir?” the man asked, concern clear in his voice. “This isn’t your usual day.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Yeah. Everything’s fine. Just…feel like going for a ride.”</p><p> </p><p>              He wasn’t about to tell his steward that he was going off to chase some bird.</p><p> </p><p>              “Of course, sir. I’ll handle the estate while you’re gone.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Thanks, B.B. See you later,” he said before pulling himself up into the saddle and riding westward out of the estate with the little, yellow bird flying just ahead.</p><p> </p><p>              And for the next two hours the witcher, his horse, and the oriole made their way through some of the prettiest land that Geralt had ever seen - fields of sunflowers in full bloom; wide bubbling streams of crystal-clear water flowing down out of the mountains; countless deer, rabbits and peacocks parading around a rolling plain of lush grass that moved in the wind like the waves of the sea. And all of it was bathed in the golden glow of the springtime sun. Geralt thought the land looked like some master artist’s idea of heaven. Despite having lived in Toussaint for almost three years, he was still in awe of its beauty, and he hoped that he would never take it for granted.  That he would always view it with grateful eyes.</p><p> </p><p>              Eventually, they rode past Anna Henrietta’s palace with its polished alabaster walls and red-tiled roof. It sat high atop a steep, rocky hill and looked down at the city of Beauclair and the rest of the duchy. Soon after, the grassy fields turned into tree-covered hills as they traveled along a narrow trail through the palace gardens on the backside of the ducal residence. Thick oaks, elms, and cedars dotted the landscape, their limbs full of green leaves. And, then, finally, the three of them came to their destination.</p><p> </p><p>              The oriole flew into the small glade and took its rest in a nearby tree while Geralt dismounted Roach and let his eyes take in his surroundings. Almost three years ago, in this very clearing, he’d been able to break a curse that had been plaguing a young, beautiful lady-in-waiting.  He hadn’t been back since then, but, as far as he could tell, nothing had changed. It looked just like he’d remembered.  The glade was bordered on the left by a small pool of clear water while a large oak stood sentry on the right.  Several butterflies flew about, occasionally landing on the colorful flowers that spotted the grassy meadow.</p><p> </p><p>              The golden bird chirped several times, bringing Geralt’s focus onto it, and he remembered why he’d come.</p><p> </p><p>              “Vivienne?” he called out, hope ringing in his voice, but all he heard was the sound of the slight breeze through the leaves.</p><p> </p><p>              He called out again, this time louder. When no one answered, he looked up at the golden oriole, his brow furrowed.</p><p> </p><p>              “I thought…” he said before sighing. He shook his head as a small, sad smile came to his face. “No hard feelings, alright? I guess it was just wishful thinking on my part. Suppose I’ve heard one too many fairy-tales in my life.”</p><p> </p><p>              The yellow bird tweeted back at him and hopped excitedly along the tree limb. But, by then, Geralt had turned back to his mount.</p><p> </p><p>              “Come on, Roach. How about a drink of water before we head back?”</p><p> </p><p>              He led his horse over to the pond and let her drink her fill.  While she was doing that, he once again looked around the meadow.  The sun was starting to set, and the sky in the west was an incredible mixture of orange and purple and yellow. It made the glade look magical.</p><p> </p><p>              “How about we stay here awhile? It’s too damn pretty to leave just yet.”</p><p> </p><p>              Roach neighed and began munching on some grass, which Geralt took as her assent. So, he removed her tack and then laid down in the lush clearing with his hands behind his head.  While he listened to the sweet lullaby of the birds in the trees, he let his mind drift back to that contract years ago with Guillaume and Vivienne, and before he knew it, his eyelids began to get heavy and, a moment later, he yawned.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>              Geralt slowly opened up his eyes, blinking away the sleep. The night sky above him was dotted with the light of a thousand stars and an enormous, full moon. He raised himself up and moved his head from side to side, causing his neck to crack and pop a couple of times.  He looked over to see Roach nearby, which he expected. She never strayed too far away from him. </p><p> </p><p>              “Seems like I’m becoming a man of leisure, after all” he said to her as he got to his feet. “Because I’m <em>clearly</em> starting to enjoy these afternoon naps.” He then pointed at her. “That’s just between me and you, got it?”</p><p> </p><p>              She neighed at him and swished her tail, which caused him to smile.</p><p> </p><p>              He stretched and then looked around the clearing. He wouldn’t have thought it possible, but it was perhaps ever prettier in the light of the moon and with dozens of lightning bugs flying about, flickering their luminescent glow. He heard a bird singing on the other side of the glade and saw that the golden oriole was still there.  He paused for a moment, taken in by its song.  Eventually, though, he decided he’d listened long enough, and he was just about to get on Roach and head home when he heard a horse neigh nearby. It was coming from the trail. A moment later, he saw someone leading their mount, walking in the dark shadows of the trees on the other side of the clearing. And, then, he stopped breathing.  For out of the darkness and into the bright moonlight walked Vivienne.</p><p> </p><p>              He couldn’t believe it. He blinked his eyes a couple of times and then furrowed his brows.</p><p> </p><p>              “V-Vivienne? Is it…is it really you?”</p><p> </p><p>              He saw a small smile come to her face. She was radiant. Maybe it was just a trick of the moonlight, but he didn’t think she’d ever been more beautiful.</p><p> </p><p>              “Hello, Geralt. Yes, it’s really me.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Am…am I dreaming?”</p><p> </p><p>              Her smile grew at that.</p><p> </p><p>              “If so, then we both are.”</p><p> </p><p>              “What…how…how did-”</p><p>             </p><p>              “Wait,” she interrupted. “I’ve been riding since sun-up. So, I’ve had all day to rehearse what I want to say.  Will you please let me say it, first? And then you can ask all your questions?”</p><p> </p><p>              “Yeah,” he said with a nod. “Yeah, of course.”</p><p> </p><p>              Neither of them had moved. They stood across the clearing from each other, fifteen feet apart.  She was holding her hands in front of her, slightly wringing them together. She bit her lower lip, let out a small sigh and started.</p><p> </p><p>              “I left Novigrad heartbroken. I honestly didn’t know exactly what I expected with our relationship. I just knew that I didn’t want it to end the way it did.  But since when does life turn out like we expect? So, I decided to sail to Skellige. That had been the plan all along, before I’d run into you that morning at the Chameleon. But I remembered our conversations, about you telling me how rugged but beautiful the islands were, and…and I realized that I didn’t want to see them alone. I wanted to share them with, well, with you, but that wasn’t possible. So, when the ship docked in Bremervoord to resupply, I disembarked.”</p><p> </p><p>              “That’s why I couldn’t find you. I searched all over Skellige for you.”</p><p> </p><p>              She nodded her head.</p><p> </p><p>              “I know, and I’m sorry.”</p><p> </p><p>              “No…I’m sorry…for interrupting. Continue…please.</p><p> </p><p>              She nodded.</p><p> </p><p>“So, I disembarked, but I had no idea what to do next. Whatever I thought traveling the Continent was going to do for me, it hadn’t.  I had the whole world in front of me, but I had no clue what to do in it. I wandered the city that day and night, and I wound up in a tavern that was looking for help. So, with no idea what else to do, I hired on. Can you imagine? Me – Duchess Anna Henrietta’s lady-in-waiting - a tavern wench?” She smiled. “I was terrible at it, but they were desperate. I didn’t even need the money, but it at least passed the days while I tried to figure out what I wanted. But, after a few months, I knew I had to move on. To what, I wasn’t sure. So, I decided to come home. To visit my parents. I didn’t know if they’d have any answers for me, but I knew that they’d accept me…welcome me home.</p><p> </p><p>“I arrived yesterday, and there was a letter waiting…” she paused and took a small step forward, “…a letter from you. Explaining everything. Telling me that…how things had ended in Novigrad was all a mistake.  There was a letter from my cousin, Marissa, too.  It said the same.”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt nodded but didn’t say anything.</p><p> </p><p>“I was so…so excited and overjoyed that I could barely fall asleep last night. But I did eventually, and I dreamt…of you…of us…here, in this clearing.  The place where I was first cursed in my mother’s womb. But also the place where you broke that curse and gave me life. When I woke up this morning, the birds outside my window were singing so beautifully, and I was so overcome with emotion that I couldn’t help but join them. I sang and sang until tears were rolling down my cheeks.</p><p> </p><p>“And then I dressed, got on my horse, and rode here. I don’t know how, but I knew you’d be here.”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt glanced over her shoulder at the yellow bird still sitting in the tree. He smiled and gave a slight shake of his head.</p><p> </p><p>“A golden oriole led me here…as if by magic.”</p><p> </p><p>“Really?”</p><p> </p><p>He nodded, which made her smile.</p><p> </p><p>“Amazing,” she said, shaking her head. And then she continued. “The entire ride here today, I had one question playing through my mind. One question that I had to ask. But now that I’m here…I’m almost afraid to ask it.”</p><p> </p><p>“Ask it…please.”</p><p> </p><p>“At the very end of your letter to me…” and at that point, she reached into a pocket and pulled out his letter, “…you wrote…do you remember what you wrote?”</p><p> </p><p>He knew exactly what part she was referring to. It had been months since he’d written that letter, but he’d never forget what he’d expressed.</p><p> </p><p>“I do.”</p><p> </p><p>“Will…will you say it, please? Will you say the words?”</p><p> </p><p> “Okay,” he said with a nod.</p><p> </p><p>But he paused for a moment, just staring into her face, lost in her eyes. He still couldn’t believe she was there, standing just a few feet from him.  For he honestly thought that he’d never see her again. He swallowed hard and exhaled slowly, and he, suddenly, felt like the white wolf from his dream, standing at the edge of a thousand-foot tall cliff.</p><p> </p><p>“Vivienne,” he started, his voice barely above a whisper, “I don’t know if I’m in love with you. But I <em>think</em> I’m on the way there. And I know for <em>sure</em>…that I want to find out.”</p><p> </p><p>She brought her hand up to her mouth, and he could see tears well in her eyes. After a moment, she dropped her hand to her side.</p><p> </p><p>“Did you…do you mean it?”</p><p> </p><p>He could hear her voice break, and suddenly he was having a hard time breathing. He swallowed hard, nodded his head, and walked towards her until he was standing just a pace away. </p><p> </p><p>“I did. And I still do. And I was hoping…I <em>hope</em> that you feel the same about me.”</p><p> </p><p>He slowly opened his hand and held it out to her. She glanced at it for just a moment before bringing her eyes back to his as a beaming smile came to her face.</p><p> </p><p>“Hope…” she said, stepping close and placing her hand in his, “it’s a beautiful thing, isn’t it?”  </p><p> </p><p>He felt her squeeze his hand tenderly, and he wanted to answer her, but he had a massive knot in his throat. He could barely breathe so he knew he wouldn’t be able to speak. So, he simply nodded his head.</p><p> </p><p>And then the two broken souls came together, closed their eyes, and kissed. And they lived happily in the moment…for the rest of their lives.</p><p> </p><p>oOo</p><p> </p><p>The End</p><p> </p><p>oOo</p><p> </p><p>Author’s Note (November 2020):</p><p>The pandemic, the subsequent economic downturn, political strife, chaos and violence in the streets, out of control wildfires, devastating hurricanes and more have all made 2020 a particularly difficult year. So, I really wanted to write a fun, light-hearted tale with a happy ending. And, then, partway through this story, a friend of mine died unexpectedly. And then a few weeks later, another friend died. He was only 25 years old so his death was even more unexpected. Needless to say, those were some sad days, and I’m pretty sure that a couple of the chapters weren’t nearly as light-hearted as I wanted them to be. Regardless, I hope that, overall, Geralt and Vivienne’s story was able to bring a few laughs and smiles into your life. </p><p> </p><p>I want to thank everyone who either left a review or sent me a PM for this story.  I truly appreciate the kind words.  Your support, encouragement, and constructive criticism really do make a difference.</p><p> </p><p>I also want to give a shout-out to all the composers and musicians involved with the Witcher soundtracks. As usual, while writing this story, I listened almost exclusively to Witcher songs, particularly several songs from Blood &amp; Wine. The music is incredibly inspiring and definitely helped me get my mind into the mood of the scenes. If you haven’t bought the soundtracks, then I encourage you to do so.</p><p> </p><p>This story was finished and posted in memory of my friends, Karen and Rene.  Karen was always full of joy and optimism. She brought smiles and laughter to everyone she ever met. Rene was an incredibly kind-hearted young man who had a passion for helping others. He really wanted to be a positive influence in the world. They are both missed.</p><p> </p><p>I hope to write and share more Geralt adventures in the future. Until then, may your lives be filled with grace and peace.</p>
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